Sunday, August 2, 2020

When the Chickens Came Home to Roost In Portlandistan

Well folks, it's official, Donald Trump has declared war on America. Probably should have saw that coming. After all, I've long argued that our dayglow duce isn't an isolationist but merely the world's shittiest imperialist. After trying and failing miserably to bring fascism to Nicaragua and Venezuela, Trump has set his sites on targets much more suited to his America First brand of colonialism. The one war our asshole in chief has managed to wage successfully after all has been the federal government's war on undocumented brown children. He may have failed to give Israel Iran but he succeeded swimmingly at giving ICE Aztlan, setting up a veritable gulag archipelago of Chuckie Cheese concentration camps on the Rio Grande that would make Woodrow Wilson wet with envy. Now he's sicking those same feds on America's more belligerent third world neighborhoods, turning Seattle and Detroit into Managua and Caracas in a sad and evil attempt to fellate his flaccid poll numbers by publicly thrashing black people and their allies for demanding an end to police state apartheid. 

In no metropolis has this spectacle of tyranny been more blatantly grotesque than in the throbbing streets of Portlandia, where a long tradition of protest and direct action has been met with all the bleak and eerie force of an Orwellian dystopia. Crowds of mothers, hipsters, activists, and veterans have been repeatedly provoked into defending their right to free assembly nightly by category 4 storms of teargas, rubber bullets, and flashbang devices, often fired directly into waves of unarmed civilians. A bevy of unmarked mystery meat in full combat regalia has swelled the streets in formation like paunchy, Slim Jim chomping, gestapo in heat. Some of them cruising the café lined avenues in windowless glorified rape vans, kidnapping random baristas and disappearing them like Operation Condor while a swarm of hopefully unarmed drones watched it all unfold from above. This is the kind of war Trump believes he can win. Portlandistan! Where the war comes to you...  

Thank god for anarchists, who live to prove pompous bullies wrong. Every time the feds picked a fight with peaceful protesters, furious gutter punks in black weren't far behind to throw it back at them like a fucking teargas canister, victoriously denying Trump his cheap victory by making fools of his overarmed goons with little more than keffiyehs, firecrackers, and that attitude the Bad Brains use to shout about. Daniel Ortega should be proud. Say what you want about these kids but for 60 days Trump brought the war home and for 60 days these motherfuckers fed it back to him. Now he's forced to take Portlandistan on the road with his tail between his legs. 

We may have won this battle but the war is far from over. The biggest mistake the left can and all too often does make about the Donald's failed American interventions is to assume that they represent some kind of aberration, a nightmare we can all wake up from once November comes. This notion is absurdly childish. Donald Trump himself is the product of the inevitable decline of American imperialism. Everything he's done, everything he is, is anything but unprecedented. The only reason Trump has the power to declare war on our fed-up nation is because past regimes provided him the weapons designed to do just that. 

It was progressive do-gooders and never-Trumpers like Barack Obama and George W. Bush who militarized the executive office and turned the White House into an iron citadel with a ready squadron of armed drones at El Presidente's fingertips, not to mention the right to use them on any 12 year old American with a name scary enough for the papers to overlook. And it was glad-handing neoliberal racists like Bill Clinton and our feeble minded savior Joe Biden who turned our prison system into the finest plantation money can buy, and our police force into the kind of broken window fucking superbeasts that can keep this chattel industry populated with an endless supply of brown bodies to feast on. If you honestly believe that this shit is going to stop or even slow down with Trump gone then you're dumber than he is and probably shouldn't vote for anything less trivial than one of his reality TV competitions. Biden's gray-care handlers will turn down the more histrionic theatrics and keep this thing rolling on mute while the news conveniently finds something else to get upset about.

This is just what happens when imperialism comes home after decades of failure abroad. It brings all the charming trappings of it's garish banana republics home with it. With each passing day, as the American Century reaches its bloody twilight, Camelot looks more and more like Pinochet's Chile or Somoza's Nicaragua. The NSA, FEMA camps, ICE, warrantless wiretaps, black sites, no-knock raids, unmarked paramilitarios, these are all but chickens coming home to roost, and they expose the biggest flaw I see in otherwise heroic movements like Black Live Matter and many of their left-anarchist allies. They seem to suffer from a total lack of awareness that their struggle extends far beyond this nations faulty borders. I have yet to hear any of the supposed leaders of these movements point out that the prison industrial complex, which they righteously condemn, is inseparably intertwined with the military industrial complex, which they refuse to acknowledge. They exist on a continuum of corporate state power that feeds the same fat masters and keeps us all in chains from Angola to, well, Angola. 

Quite possibly the fiercest foe modern American tyranny has ever faced off against were the Black Panthers that BLM is often derisively compared to, but Huey Newton let it be known from day one that his party was a paramilitary movement developed to combat imperialism both at home and abroad. The Panthers and their allies across the Rainbow Coalition spectrum recognized that America's most impoverished communities, from Oakland to Appalachia, were nearly indistinguishable from the Third World nations that America sought to crush overseas, and they boldly declared allegiance to those oppressed comrades above their own occupying nation. I see this fire in the streets of Portlandistan, but where is the fury that connects it to our brothers and sisters struggling valiantly against the same beast in Yemen and the West Bank? Why do leaders in Black Lives Matter break bread with Fortune 500 monsters before that of the Houthi dragon slayers? I'm not grandstanding here, I seriously want to know.

I'm a devout anti-imperialist, dearest motherfuckers, the proud citizen of a stateless Queer nation, a third world nation of teenage runaways and streetwalking prostitutes. I want this movement to work, like many marginalized people, in many ways, I need this movement to work. I want the kids in the streets of cities across this fascist police state to win like they did in Portlandistan, only bigger. But a true revolution just isn't possible if you refuse to address the giant blood drenched elephant in the room, and I'm not talking about Trump.

Peace, Love, & Solidarity- Nicky/CH

This post is dedicated in loving memory to Garret Foster, who died building bridges between white libertarians and Black Lives Matter. His selfless courage stands bright and tall as a beacon of light in a bleak world. His death will not be in vain. Rest in power, comrade, rest in power.

Soundtrack; Songs that influenced this post.

*  Mountain Song by Jane's Addiction
*  Grounds by IDLES
*  Attitude by Bad Brains
*  In a Big City by Titus Andronicus
*  Surface Envy by Sleater-Kinney
*  Roll Me Through the Gates of Hell by Mischief Brew
*  Lexicon Devil by the Germs
*  Epic by Faith No More
*  Up the Wolves by the Mountain Goats
*  Superbeast by Rob Zombie

Sunday, July 26, 2020

Get the Fuck Out of Afghanistan!

This is the part of the horror movie where the plot collapses beneath the weight of one too many clichés. Having already gruesomely dispatched all the more promiscuous teens, the knife wielding masked psychopath has cornered the chaste final girl in an old dilapidated farmhouse. The backdoor is seemingly wide open, but instead of making an easy and sensible, if anticlimactic, escape, the bookish antagonist takes the fucking stairs to the attic, leaving her no place left to hide from the monster stalking her. You, the audience, is left beside yourself. Your mind boggles at the hackneyed rational of a supposedly sensible heroine. You're left with no other plausible response than to yell out at the silver screen, "Get the fuck out of the house!" In 2020, this is the analogy where we as Americans find ourselves. Only we are all the final girls, the masked psychopath is a seemingly unkillable war of our own creation, and the farmhouse that we refuse to escape from is the imperial crypt called Afghanistan. If you are one of the few remaining committed anti-imperialists in this country, you find yourself on the outside of this colossal mess looking in, practically begging, "Get the fuck out of Afghanistan!"

Apparently Donald Trump, one of the dumber sluts to face off with this psycho killer of an endless war, has heard our call. Though the motherfucker has been playing footsy with the idea of withdrawing troops from Afghanistan and pretty much everywhere else since before he was elected, he appears to be desperate enough for a foreign policy win in the increasingly uphill 2020 election to actually, just maybe, get out of that fucking house. After a peace deal brokered with the Taliban early this year, Trump has rapidly widdled down America's military footprint in Afghanistan from 13,000 to 8,500 troops, shutting down 5 bases and moving way ahead of his own schedule.

I'm not an imbecile. I've seen far too many American intervention slasher flicks to be gullible enough to mistake the Donald for anything but a desperate and craven opportunist. His plan is to hold off a complete withdrawal until after the election while ratcheting up the Cambodian style air war on Afghan civilians and keeping 4,000 final girls in country until May, just long enough to plausibly win the election as a pseudo-peace candidate and come up with some bullshit excuse to back out of the peace deal at the last minute. But even a jaded anarchist like me can see that it can't be underestimated how truly desperate and impulsive our feckless leader has become. He's already shit the bed on COVID, and law and order just ain't selling like it did back in '68. Trump has even hinted at the possibility of pulling all the remaining troops from the Afghan death trap before the election, and a growing number of more legit isolationists in the GOP along with a few brave Democrats are making attempts to push the motherfucker to do just that. But the pathological opportunists in the Democratic leadership are going out of their way to sabotage this effort.

In the latest National Defense Authorization Act, mighty little Ilhan Omar, the last Democrat George McGovern might have recognized as an ally, attempted to introduce an amendment that would force Trump to put up or shut up and make establishing a plan for complete withdrawal from Afghanistan a top priority. I'm not shocked that it failed, but I am physically disgusted that the amendment received twice as much support from the GOP as it did among Ilhan's own damn party. This is bigger than just election year politricks. The Democrats don't need failure in Afghanistan to kick Trump's ass, even with their Weekend at Bernie's Yankee Dixiecrat candidate. They've wisely kept that rape-y old creep on ice in the basement after finally realizing that Donald can kick his own ass all by himself. No, this is part of a growing tide of Democratic warmongering. A return to the Cold War glory of the bloodthirsty Kennedy Democrats of yore, and they got two thirds of the media in their back pocket to back them up.

The Democrats have been waging open war against Donald Trump's largely empty-handed suggestions of troop withdrawals from the beginning. Korea, Germany, Syria, every time the excitable boy in chief strikes an America First pose, the media turns it into another horseshit Putin conspiracy theory and the Democrats blindly follow with legislation to keep troops in place until the deep state rubber stamps certification that confirms said withdrawal wouldn't risk the purposely vague objectives of "American interests" and those of our terror funding allies. The latest excuse for this nonsense being vomited up by none other than Joe Biden himself is the Bountygate hoopla, Quite possibly the weakest Russiagate hoax since Christopher Steele's Fifty Shades of Gold. The asinine theory that Russia offered the Taliban bounties for the scalps of American troops in Afghanistan has been thoroughly debunked by everyone from the NSA to the Pentagon, but Biden and his trigger happy friends in the supposedly liberal media just keep repeating it as if it were absolute fact, along with the suggestion that finally getting the fuck out of Afghanistan is somehow part of the fucking conspiracy.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised. After all, it was the Democrats, in their brief post-Nixon peacenik era no less, that started this horror show. A lot of people forget that the godfather of modern Wahhabi terrorism is none other than that plainspoken dove from peanut country, Jimmy Carter, who cooked up what became known to Beltway insiders as the Afghan Trap with his creepy proto-neocon sidekick, Zbigniew Brzezinski. After a communist revolution provoked unrest among Afghanistan's ancient mountain tribes, Jimmy and Zbig decided to turn the regional upheaval into a full blown civil war so as to lure the Afghan's already economically stagnant neighbors in the Soviet Union into their own private Vietnam. Under White House direction, the Saudis rounded up the mercenary psychopaths who would eventually become Al-Qaeda and we armed, trained, and organized them in Pakistan before shipping them out to the Hindu Kush to sling dope, kill Russians, and throw acid in the faces of commie coeds who dared to leave the veil at home. And the rest is horror movie history.

America's longest war didn't even begin in 2002. It began in 1978, and Democrats have played a key roll in that Himalayan bloodbath from the first drop. Guess there's no reason that should stop now. But final girls in both parties and beyond have had enough. Polls have shown that 57% of Americans support a complete withdrawal from that imperial sand trap that has claimed countless war sluts going back to Alexander the Great, and a whopping 69% of veterans want to get the fuck out of that house. This silent majority needs to make itself heard. We need to make it clear that any president who doesn't end this horror show once and for all isn't worth the paper ballots are printed on, even if that means voting third party or for no one at all. Our votes are for sale, and the price is endless war. Pay up or fuck off.

We can't afford to mince words on this one, dearest motherfuckers. Join me in the theater of democracy shouting "Get the Fuck Out of Afghanistan!" at the top of our lungs. Enough is enough and I've had it. Haven't you?

Peace, Love, & Empathy- Nicky/CH

Soundtrack; Songs that influenced this post.

*  Werewolves of London by Warren Zevon
*  Under the Table by Fiona Apple
*  Psycho Killer by Talking Heads
*  Excitable Boy by Warren Zevon
*  Time After Time by Iron & Wine
*  Last Caress by the Misfits
*  Give Peace a Chance by the Plastic Ono Band
*  Rambozo the Clown by Dead Kennedys
*  Tommy Gun by the Clash
*  Hey Joe by Patti Smith
*  If I Had an Exorcism by the Melvins

Sunday, July 19, 2020

Our Enemy, Law and Order

Law and order. Just the sound of those three words sets my teeth on edge. Together they form a verbal menage a trois that quite possibly amounts to the three ugliest words in the English lexicon. It brings to mind dreadful images of everything my wild anarchist heart reviles. It conjures up everything I despise, everything I've sworn to die fighting. Law and order is rules and hierarchies and boundaries. It's borders and courts and prisons packed full of shackled renegades. It's cops and judges and prosecutors and priests and ties and condoms and dental dams and neatly pressed uniforms and carefully gendered haircuts and Kamala fucking Harris. It's schools full of well behaved children, television sets governed by the paternal censorship of weaponized banality, bedrooms free from the glories of sin. It's clean streets, carcinogenic manicured lawns, and jackbooted PTA's slut shaming bouffant haired single mothers. It's that motherfucker who coughs real fucking loud at the IHOP when you try to light a cigarette at 3 in the goddamn mourning. It's that shrill church lady that gives you the stanky eyeball at the bus stop when you're trying to lez out with your girlfriend. In a sentence, law and order is fascism, American style, and it's where that human landmine, Donald Trump, finally found his fucking groove.

Took him long enough. For the past three years and change, The Donald has been the flatulent leader of an administration who couldn't shoot straight, a disheveled coalition of bickering swamp critters struggling to stand on an oil slick of their own greasy shit, and I'm only slightly ashamed to admit that I've rather enjoyed the shitshow. After eight years of Barack Obama masterfully pimping out the rusty old Sherman tank of our satanic military industrial complex as a tool for totalitarian humanitarianism and waxing sociopathic about the imperial duty to protect like a milk chocolate Ted Bundy in dad jeans at an international auto show, it's been a nice change of pace to see our dreaded Donald rip off that mask of sanity while he maniacally debases himself like Multiple Migs on a bender. But all bad things turn lethal to those who wait, and Orange-Man-Bad appears to have finally truly broken bad with his post-George Floyd Nixonian revivals, like that gunpowder and Vaseline bacchanalia at Mount Rushmore. 

According to the Donald and his desperate fan club on every nursing home's favorite news hole, Fox, we live in grave and dire times of epic chaos and proletarian lawlessness. Dangerously under policed minorities and their anarchist acolytes (Hi!) stalk the streets looking for old white ladies to molest and statues to desecrate. We're just about three seconds and a forty ounce away from burning down your local church or worse, the Chick-Fil-A. These new Nixonians have made a particularly lively field day out of a recent rash of violent street crimes hitting black neighborhoods in cities like Chicago and Atlanta. "This is what happens!" they screech piously as they beat their Bibles like leather-bound cocks, "This is what happens when you even think about defunding the police! This is what happens in a world without law and order!!"  

Well, on that note, please allow me a moment to clear my throat. No, you cane-shaking Archie Bunker bigots, this is not what happens when poor people refuse to kick up to your darling muscle-bound lover-boys in that vaunted shake-down society known as the police. This is what fucking happens when poor people can't breath beneath the weight of a regime that is threatening the world with nuclear apocalypse and environmental devastation. This is what happens in a country that allows a plague to ravage just enough of the proletariat to scare the rest of us into gleefully complying with a quarantine police state that pushes us all to the brink of poverty and agoraphobic insanity. This is exactly what happens when law and order is let loose on the poor like a rabid dog at a Christmas feast. Of coarse people are going to get violent. They're going to get reckless and hurt themselves and their communities because they've been rendered nihilistic and powerless to hurt anyone who really deserves it. We've seen this very special episode of Amerikkka before. This shit ain't new, it's just a re-run of the last days of rage.

We saw this shit under the original Nixon regime. Karl Marx once said that violence is the midwife of any society pregnant with a new one. I would argue that this kind of tragic poor-on-poor people violence is the miscarried afterbirth of any desperate society denied a new one. America came very close to a real revolution back in the late sixties and early seventies. Revolutionary consciousness, the kind that provides the raw critical mass for a spontaneous uprising to gestate into a popular revolution, became so loud that you could hear it roar from the acid orgies of the Haight to the police riots of post-DNC Chicago. Members of organizations like the Weather Underground could blow up the Capitol, bust out Timothy Leary, and live quite openly among the houseboat dwelling faggots of the San Francisco Bay, knowing full well that anyone who ever wanted to get invited to another happening again wouldn't dare rat them out. America was woke, dangerously woke. So woke that fugitives and convicts became bigger than most rock stars. Every cop's daughter had a Free Huey poster on her wall. And then it all came crashing down.

Nixon and Hoover and Cointelpro and CHAOS and Helter Skelter came crashing down. The kids had dared to defy their imperial curfew in the sixties, and in the seventies, the hounds were let loose. What followed was two decades of the kind of hopeless violence used by counter-revolutionary creatures like Trump's opponent, Joe Biden, to build the current police state that the George Floyd Uprisings fearlessly challenged. Without the cataclysmic catharsis of revolution, there was nothing left but empty nihilism for people desperate to be heard to resort to, and this desperate crime wave  was exploited by the powers who made this sordid end inevitable by doubling down on a failed society with law and order. 

Contrary to popular fiction, poor people aren't anymore violent than anybody else in this empire. The rich just export their lust for blood to the ghettos and the Third World. While pissed off black kids set their tenements on fire in 1968, the grey-flannel Eisenhower class enjoyed a stiff highball while they watched the rotten fruit of their campaign donations ripen on the napalm soaked streets of Da Nang from the comfort of their suburban living rooms. Upper-middle-class Trump and Biden supporters don't have to spray their quiet street corners with bullets when they can afford to pay the police state to do it for them at home and abroad. This is how America's market place of perpetual violence sustains itself.

I know this is politically incorrect, what else is new, but oppressed people have every right to their rage. It's the only logical response to an age of imperial madness. But in order for this rage to reward us with anything but convenient excuses for more American style fascism, we need to stay focused. We need to unite beneath our common banner of post-colonial poverty and not allow the Donald Trumps, Joe Bidens and Dick Nixons of this world to divide us along any color lines, be they black and white, or red and blue. Poor people who seek absolute liberty must unite against our common enemy, that bastard lie called law and order, for this is the true source of all our violent turmoil. First justice, then peace.

Justice, Peace, Love & Empathy- Nicky/CH

Soundtrack: Songs that influenced this post.

*  All the Rage Back Home by Interpol
*  Harper Valley P.T.A. by Jeannie C. Riley
*  Kiss With a Fist by Florence and the Machine
*  Street Fighting Man by The Rolling Stones
*  Ray of Sunshine by Go Sailor
*  For What It's Worth by Buffalo Springfield
*  Sabotage by Beastie Boys
*  Easier Said by Sunflower Bean
*  Police On My Back by The Clash
*  Where To Start by Bully
*  Atmosphere by Joy Division

Sunday, July 12, 2020

Antifa Punks and Boogaloo Bois: A Tale of Two Scapegoats

It was the kind of story that always seems to fly just beneath the radar. You probably missed it. I nearly did. Somewhere between the Pride parades and the Fourth of July, while the country was busy hyperventilating over the latest Coronavirus spike and I was busy scrubbing the glitter and gunpowder from my crack, a memo from Attorney General and Melvin Purvis impersonator William Barr was published by those fine parasites at the Washington Post. In this memo, Barr directed the Justice Department to form a task force devoted to combating the vague scourge of "Anti-Government Extremists." The task force was to be led by a junta of state attorneys and would gather information on individuals and organizations deemed to be a threat by the same Attorney General who brought us Ruby Ridge. 

This information would then be shared with a wider junta of local Floyd stranglers in order to help those heroes in blue to better combat the amorphous boogeyman known as the anti-government extremist, a species that could easily include anyone and everyone from Black Lives Matter to your local Mennonite co-op. The language of this thing sent shivers down my spine. To a subcultural history fiend like myself it was hard to ignore the similarities between the language of Barr's witch-hunt memo and the Nixonian double-speak of J. Edgar Hoover's Cointelpro, the notorious FBI pogrom that worked with local law enforcement to combat the similarly vague threats to democracy posed by the likes of the Students for a Democratic Society and the Black Panther Party. Cointelpro began as a filthy little memo that ended in a veritable dirty war waged by glorified death squads with badges, stoking violence between competing radicals and assassinating them themselves when poison pen letters failed to produce the desired body count. With Trump's law and order jihad in fool bloom, I fear that we could very well be ramping up to a bloody sequel to J. Edna's love letter to the Third Reich, and anti-government extremists like myself could easily find our smoked and shimmering ass-cracks in the crosshairs.

The most novel thing about this underreported scoop, aside from its creepy parallels to one of the federal government's darker chapters, was the fact that only two movements were singled out by Barr's memo, and both were movements that I had personally held rather low opinions of until recent events led me to reconsider what I thought I knew about them, the seemingly diametrically apposed leftists of Antifa and the conservative Boogaloo Bois. Both groups have been roundly vilified by mainstream commentators on both sides of the aisle rendering them convenient scapegoats in partisan food fights. According to Fox News, Antifa is a bloodthirsty pirate army second only to Black Lives Matter in their pathological hatred for the nuclear family and traditional democratic values. And according to Roger Ailes' neo-McCarthyite doppelgangers over at CNN and MSNBC, Boogaloo represents pretty much the same damn thing. The ironic thing is that, once again, in their downright flamboyant ignorance, they're both kind of right, but my own ignorance needed to be confronted before I could see the revolution for the mob.

My bigotry towards the Antifa movement has been building for years and comes from my own personal interactions with some of its lesser partisans online. I have always considered myself to be devoutly antifascist and antiracist. I despise bigotry of all kinds and, as a trans person in a Trump Country hicktown, I've been given a front row seat to just how hideous preconceived notions can be. But that hasn't stopped me from forming ill-informed preconceived notions of my own. Antifa likes to trace its roots back to the street fights of Weimar Germany, but the reality is that their shallow roots lead largely to the same Hardcore Punk scene that offered me a soundtrack to my own rebellious youth.

In the late Seventies and Eighties, punk kids grew tired of having neo-Nazi lunkheads invade their spaces so they could beat the shit out of anyone they could ambush and outnumber. So their victims formed their own street fighting paramilitary operations to confront these bullies and defend those who couldn't. But what began as a movement for collective self-defense quickly devolved into the same kind of macho violence they had originally sought to confront. Soon Antifa gangs were gathering pissed off white boys from the same testosterone kiddy pool as the White Power Movement and mirroring their squadist invasion tactics by attacking Nazi punks at their own venues, creating a veritable cottage industry for toxic masculinity in cities across the Heartland and the Pacific-Northwest.

That being said, all of this mayhem was no skin off my ass. Jock on jock violence seemed like a pretty victimless crime to me. That changed when Antifa began to develop into a movement dedicated to combating perceived political incorrectness on campuses and social media sites. Before this, my only major beef with the movement was that they wasted their energy on small fish in countercultural skinhead ghettos while fascism thrived unchallenged in America's rapidly expanding police-warfare state, but soon this very criticism made me a target of Antifa's cultish online trolls who hold the dogmatic belief that all those who appose or even simply criticize Antifa are automatically fascists themselves.

I've had cis-hetero white boys bash me for my perceived lack of wokeness until they realized that I was one of the minorities they supposedly and paternally protect, at which point I was subjected to the even more insulting 'You-poor-baby' treatment, as if having libertarian leanings within my gender identity rendered me to automatic victim status and only their strong tattooed arms could save me. These experiences were sickening and demeaning and led me to cast off the whole Antifa lot as a bunch of disingenuous poseurs serving the status quo by acting as its shock troops against Alt-Right shock jocks and principled free speech absolutists alike, and I don't believe that leftists like myself and, more recently, Noam Chomsky were wrong to make this conclusion, but George Floyd changed everything.

After that televised lynching I became shocked to witness members of Antifa putting their bricks where their mouths were and finally unleashing some of that apish machismo on the real source of fascism in this country. Sure Antifa had tussled with cops before but this was different. The cops would throttle peaceful protestors by day and Antifa would hold them accountable by night, smashing their tax funded toys and burning down their clubhouses. It was during this upheaval that I began to receive a trickle of support from Antifa members for my own screeds in defense of the George Floyd Uprisings. We still exchanged words on issues like free speech and the Non-Aggression Principle, but their was no longer any argument on the fact that we were both on the same side. It was also during this time of turbulence that I came to a startlingly similar conclusion about William Barr's other scapegoats, the much loathed Boogaloo Bois. 

Like most of America, I knew virtually nothing about Boogaloo other than the mainstream media's narrative that painted them variously as either armed Alt-Right race warriors or some kind of revival of the Nineties Militia Movement. While the Alt-Right grossed me out and bored me to tears with their childish shock tactics, I've long carried the same sympathies for the Militia Movement held by fellow left-wing iconoclasts like Alex Cockburn and Gore Vidal, and unlike most of my fellow millennial leftists, my militantly idiosyncratic views have developed me a following among weirdos on both the right as well as the left. So I decided to go straight to the horse's mouth and figure these armed lunatics out for myself. I sent a simple message out on Twitter, asking my more conservative followers to explain the Boogaloo to me. Was this a race war thing or just armed hillbilly cosplay? The response frankly shocked me. A few dozen reposts later, I found myself a left-wing T-Grrrrl engaged in a 48 hour long viral conversation with several hundred self-proclaimed Boogaloo Bois and their sympathizers. The cross section I encountered was unsurprisingly concerned first and foremost with gun rights and then, in a close second, with combatting the expanding police state in this country, the same menace Antifa has been battling in the streets and I've been battling on my blog.  

The Boogs I encountered were militantly non-partisan and tended to lean toward the Ron Paul wing of the Libertarian Movement, but not one of them, not a single solitary troll in the racial cesspool of social media, endorsed a race war or any form of bigotry whatsoever. In fact, the number one butt of their jokes seemed to be the well publicized handful of white nationalists who ham-fistedly attempted to infiltrate and co-opt the movement. What struck me most about these well-armed bros, and I'm sure this sentence will piss off quite literally everyone, was how similar they were to the Antifa punks I've encountered. Both movements are comprised largely of middle class white males who were sick of the empty promises of both major parties and their corporate handlers and sought to take matters in their own hands to create a far less authoritarian society by any means necessary. Both groups had their flaws and their differences, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I seem to have far more in common with the gun-toting free speech absolutists in the Boogaloo set, but both movements serve as a much needed decentralized threat to the status quo of the state, and this, along with the fact that both groups also ally themselves with the more radical aims of Black Lives Matter, is precisely why the Trump Administration seeks to hang them both from the same noose.

My suggestion is détente, not just between Antifa punks and Boogaloo Bois, but between all radicals who agree to appose bigotry of all kinds while prioritizing the destruction of it's source in the American police-warfare state. We can agree to disagree on pretty much everything else but we need to stand united against the enemy that now quite openly seeks all of our destruction. The original Cointelpro succeeded because it managed to pit a wide variety of radicals against each other, from Black nationalists to white Maoists. If us "Anti-Government Extremists" are going to survive round two, we must learn from their mistakes and stand united against our common foe, the fascist regime of the American Empire. 

Think about it, dearest motherfuckers. It could be groovy.

Peace, Love & Empathy- Nicky/CH 

Soundtrack; Songs that influenced this post

*  Tommy In The 80s by Beach Slang
*  Surrender by Cheap Trick
*  The American Ruse by the MC5
*  No One Else by Weezer
*  Left of the Dial by the Replacements
*  Pinhead by the Ramones
*  Sequestered In Memphis by the Hold Steady
*  Nazi Punks Fuck Off by Dead Kennedys
*  Oliver's Army by Elvis Costello
*  Surface Envy by Sleater-Kinney

Sunday, July 5, 2020

The Stonewall Blues (Still Dreaming of a Queer Nation)

I should be such a happy Queer, shouldn't I? At least that's what I'm told. After all, aren't all the other Queer folks just so goddamn happy? The ones on TV certainly appear to be, and even the ones I know seem to agree that shit's getting better and I suppose in many respects it is. Then why do I find myself feeling like a genderfuck Charlie Brown every July, once the parades have gone home? This year's Pride Month seemed particularly festive, even with the much hyped specter of COVID lurking just behind every glory hole. After all, 2020 marked the 5th year anniversary of the Supreme Court's decision to essentially legalize gay marriage across all 50 states and the 5th year anniversary of the Democrats pretending they were for it all along. It also marked another landmark decision from the Supreme Court this year to recognize that the Civil Rights Act of 1964 actually applies to us. Yet, whenever people ask me about these winds of change, my response always leaves them flummoxed and disjointed, like they expect me to slap my hands together like an excited seal and my refusal to perform as expected makes me jaded, ungrateful, contrarian, and a bunch of other adjectives which give people a very PC way to accuse me of being a bad Queer. 

So what do I tell them? Do I tell them that I resent going to a bunch of cis-het 1 percenters in robes, hat in hand, to beg for rights that I feel they have no right to grant or deny? Do I reiterate again what it means to be a Queer anarchist and a minority at the mercy of the same people who got rich at Wall Street law firms while my people were nearly wiped out by a plague nobody straight but Liz Taylor could be bothered to give a fuck about? Do I tell them that the plaintiffs in this latest Supreme Court case were all Queer people who managed to pass for long enough to get hired before getting fired? Do I tell them that out gender non-conforming Queers such as myself never even get through the front door? That we get denied job after job after job for totally legal but conveniently non-specified reasons? Reasons we all know without ever being said? Do I really have to point out that this is the reason that nearly sixty years after the original Civil Right's Act, black and brown people are still grossly unemployed and underpaid? Do I have to explain to them that no top-down legal system can ever equalize the playing field between labor and management? That we require radical trade unions and general strikes to make shit like that happen? Do I explain to them the ideas of Rudolf Rocker before or after the theory of Judith Butler? Do I inform them that state marriage is a patriarchal and puritanical relic with its roots in conjugal subjugation? Do I tell them that Queer people have been engaged in various forms of marriage forever without ever seeking the approval of the state that went out of its way to outlaw our existence before adopting us as some kind of  domesticated mascot for the neoliberal experiment? Do I explain to them that there are forms of Queer love far too radical for any state to ever even be capable of recognizing? Do I tell them that I'm far more concerned with poor transwomen of color being raped and tortured in the guts of the prison industrial complex that's more powerful than ever than a few glorified photo-ops for white gender conforming upper-middle class Queers to enjoy? I could tell them all those things and more, and I suppose I just did, but it would still be beside the point. The real reason for my yearly post-Pride malaise would still remain obscured.

I suppose that the best way to explain where I'm coming from is to explain that there are essentially two major schools of civil rights activism, the Martin Luther King kind, seeking social justice by peacefully reforming a devilish system and integrating its past victims to the society that had refused them equality, and the Malcolm X brand of civil rights, that realizes that the system itself has always been the problem and that integration into such a system is a form of cultural assimilation which erases proud traditions of resistance to its subjugation. You could apply these two schools of thought to nearly any civil rights struggle, and I'm sure that it will surprise exactly zero of my dearest motherfuckers that this faggot has always been a little more Malcolm X than MLK. It's not that I have anything against Doctor King. Allah knows Malcolm himself respected the shit out of the motherfucker, even when he was pissing him off. But the hard knocks reality is that some of us choose not to play nice with the master class but a lot of us never really had that option to begin with. Malcolm was triple fucked, not just Black, but a Muslim and an ex-con to boot. He had no White Jesus to cuddle with, to keep the bigots chill. He only had two hard fists and a fast mouth to keep him alive, and many Queers like me find ourselves in similar yet undeniably different positions. For some of us, assimilation is just not an option and it never has been.

Being part of the straight world was never an option for me. Even before I knew what Queer was I didn't pass. I grew up being treated as a horribly unwelcome presence by grown adults from a very young age. I never walked into a single classroom where I felt welcome. I was always treated as something strange and dangerous for reasons I could never comprehend. It was as if others could smell the difference on me long before any of us could put our finger on what it was. It's really little wonder looking back now that in an overwhelmingly white community my earliest friends were a half-Thai bastard crossbreed and an adopted Black hillbilly. It wasn't like we were looking for each other, but like all the adults staring at us, we knew that we were different, and that together we felt safe. I ended up looking to people of color for inspiration growing up, especially Black people. In the Nineties, the perception of Black people in rural America was that they were still dangerous but that this danger was precisely what made them so fucking cool. For an unsuccessfully closeted kid who inspired his grade school teachers to regularly convene meetings with parents on how to deal with me, watching a bunch of flashy dangerous Black people getting rich telling normal white folk to go fuck themselves was kind of inspiring. My favorite childhood hero was Dennis Rodman, who wore whatever the fuck he wanted, kicked ass on the court, and fucked the hottest chicks in town. I didn't realize it at the time, but in his own odd way, The Worm was like my first lesbian roll model. He was basically Storme DeLarverie with a slightly longer clit.

In my teens, I became enamored with the Black revolutionaries of the Sixties and Seventies. Huey Newton, Malcolm X, Angela Davis, George Jackson, Fred Hampton, Kuwasi Balagoon, all fighting "the Man", freaking him out, resisting inclusion to create a better, darker, realer America from the ashes of the one they promised to burn to the ground. I was enthralled, and still struggling with my gender identity and the post traumatic stress disorder of being treated like a dangerous circus freak as a child, I was pissed off too. I shared their anger intimately. All the people they frightened looked a lot like the people who were frightened of me; the cops, the priests, the teachers. When I heard H. Rap Brown call out, "If America Doesn't come around, we're gonna burn it down!" I wanted to stand up and shout. By the time I finally realized that I was a gender non-conforming dyke trapped in a male's body, I was done with whiteness. Queer sisters like Marsha P. Johnson and Miss Major showed me how to strut and veteran race-traitor Noel Ignatiev offered me a way out with his rejection of the white social construct. I never once felt like the majority of the people I grew up with and I was hellbent to make Queer my race and to make it every bit as radical as my teenage heroes made theirs. 

So what does that make me? A Queer Nationalist? In a stateless sort of way, I suppose it does, which is likely the reason why a degenerate commie dyke like me finds herself something of a fellow traveler of the stateless conservatives in the National Anarchist Movement. But I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm a separatist. I may reject the poison gift of melting pot assimilation but I still have plenty of good breeder friends, some I'd go so far as to call family. And as a lifelong libidinous race mixer who's been chasing Asian and Latina cis-girls for as long as I knew they existed, the idea of any form of segregation, however voluntary, has never really sat right with me. I prefer autonomy. Something akin to the Amish, only with more glitter and some gunpowder to defend it with.

This is why Pride Month brings me down. Because I still dream of a Queer Autonomous Zone, a Bookchinite confederacy of blinking syndicalist red light republics dotting the abandoned Rust Belt towns of the Great Lakes, providing refugees, runaways and throwaways of all ages and ethnicities from across the Bible Belt and Middle America with a nation where gender and sexuality are as fluid as the water at our backs. Where you can wake up every day and ask yourself, "Who do I want to be today and how do I want to be it?" A nation where sex work is seen as both an artform and a trade to be revered and protected by guilds of proud empowered whores. Where people choose their own damn families and build their homes however the hell they want, with three mommies, three daddies and six overage foster kids, or just a couple of leather-clad daddies and a gimp on a leash out back. A nation where bathrooms are only segregated by the sex people can or can't have in them rather than the sex on some government birth certificate. A nation where discrimination is handled case by case by truly democratic trade unions as quickly as it occurs. A nation where children are treated as equals and don't have to grow up so terrified of the mysteries of their own bodies that they spend the rest of their painful lives getting even with adults through angry blog posts like this. 

That's the fucking nation I dream of, dearest motherfuckers, and it hasn't got a goddamn thing to do with America. Can Brett fucking Kavanaugh make that dream a reality? Yeah, I didn't think so. Now hand me that Molotov cocktail next to my tiara, this fucking queen has work to do.

Peace, Love, & Empathy- Nicky/CH

Soundtrack; Songs that influenced this post

*  Oh Sweet Nothing by the Velvet Underground
*  Without You by Perfume Genius
*  Celebrity Skin by Hole
*  Lola by the Raincoats
*  Get Your Gun by Marilyn Manson
*  Wave of Mutilation by Kristen Hersh
*  Perfect Day by Lou Reed
*  Heroes by David Bowie
*  Beginning to See the Light by the Velvet Underground

Sunday, June 28, 2020

Nothing Succeeds Like Secession: Suggested Demands for CHOP From a Friendly Panarchist Ally

I have always been fascinated by secessionist movements. It goes back to my childhood love of maps, flags and geography. I use to spend hours poring over atlases and fixating on the strange autonomous zones that only existed inside fluid borders drawn in dotted lines. Strange places no American ever spoke of, with exotic names like Transnistria, Gaza, Nagorno-Karabakh, and Western Sahara. I would eventually grow into a commie, Third World, war nerd who fastidiously followed and supported these esoteric independence movements from afar. 

Secession often gets a dirty name on the American left, thanks largely to those slave driving frauds in the Confederacy who failed to get the approval of the citizens they called property before calling it splitsville. But globally speaking, secession has more often than not been a practice which usually favors the colonized over the colonizers, and one that could have given real teeth to the growing slave revolts of the South had it been held to the standards of Thomas Paine.

All things considered, it's really little wonder that after an adolescent flirtation with Bolivarian Guevarism, I became a devoted Panarchist, a school of anarchism that rejects globalism in favor of militant localism, and dreams of a world of a million autonomous zones, divided only by ideology and fluid dotted lines. So naturally I was pretty fucking stoked when the goblins on my aging mother's Fox News programs began hyperventilating over CHAZ. 

Born in the heat of urban social upheaval, the Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone or CHAZ rose from the tear gas like a great anarchist kraken to tantalize and toy with the posh gentrified towers of the purgatory the tech industry has turned one of America's fine outlaw cities into. Finally, the freaks, faggots and crusty dreaded junkies had taken back a six block piece of what had once been a thriving bohemian red light district and transformed it into an outrageous post-apocalyptic utopia, tattooed in graffiti and crawling with sketchy libertines who saunter through the war torn avenues with exotically modified AR-15's and fluorescent colored dread-hawks. The only gas that fills these streets now is the skunky fog emanating from flaming dumpsters and doobies the size of dinosaur bones. A glorious cacophony of grindcore and lo-fi Soundcloud rap bounces off the alleyways from a dozen feral ghetto-blasters tapped into the city grid through hacked streetlamps, as barely legal teen runaways go wild in the streets, shooting dark web procured psychedelic tryptamines and eating each other's taught assholes beneath signs reading "You are now leaving the United States of America." Finally, the American left appears to have discovered the magic of secession.  

If only the vivid nightmares of Sean Hannity were a reality, the world would be my wet dream. Those hysterical creatures who terrify the elderly for a living always make the left look way cooler than it really is. The somewhat disappointing reality is that the Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone isn't really an anarchist project. In fact, in its latest capitulation to the melodramatic Karens of the straight world, it isn't even an autonomous zone anymore. CHAZ has become CHOP aka the Capitol Hill Organized Protest, which may very well include a fair share of anarchists among its contingency but is not in fact an anarchist commune.

CHOP is a loose collaboration between Black Lives Matter and a number of other Pacific Northwest protest movements, and aside from a recent highly publicized spatter of the type of seemingly random acts of violence inevitable in any new society, the whole thing has been almost depressingly chill. That isn't to say that CHOP ain't worth defending. As a Panarchist and a pan-secessionist, I try my damnedest to support all indigenous alternatives to the state, and the first half of the CHOP formerly known as CHAZ's original list of demands is a spot on assault on the local Seattle police state, calling for the wholesale abolition of the pigs and their prison system, as well as degentrification and increased autonomy for local anti-crime initiatives.

Sadly, the second half is bereft with the social-democratic gimme culture of the Bernie buttfucked left. After rightfully calling out the chattel style slavery of this nation's school-to-prison system, CHOP calls for blank checks to centralized education and healthcare systems without properly addressing the totalitarian architecture of these industries and their incestuous marriage to the injustice system CHOP came to stomp out. CHOP also suffers from this generation's dreadful lack of imagination. As proven by their name change concession, the partisans of CHOP underestimate the power of shocking the bourgeoisie. They lack the theatrical flourish of the Youth International Party, the Black Liberation Army, or the Situationist International. 

True revolutionaries are never going to win over the adults out their in TV land. But you can win over their jaded children by spooking their normie parents. The greatest blow ever delivered to White Supremacy was the day a Dixiecrat congressman came home from voting for the latest Clinton crime bill to find his lily-white teenage daughter in bed with the undocumented housekeeper, scissoring to the latest NWA album blasting from the family HiFi system. We need to shock and provoke. CHOP needs to own the bad rep Fox has fortuitously bestowed upon them because it might be their greatest weapon in a cultural war for the hearts and minds of the terminally bored.

With all this in mind, I've decided to write up a few new demands for CHOP to consider if they wish to remain lethal to the outside system which may very well be sabotaging them from within as we speak. The Feds weren't above "random" gangland shootings during Cointelpro, and who is Trump but the Satanic reincarnation of Dick Nixon. I remind all of you dearest motherfuckers, especially those within CHOP, to take my suggestions with a grain of salt or two. They are but the wild ramblings of an agoraphobic, genderqueer, pale-faced, suburban armchair anarchist from the other end of the country. Think of them as a few friendly suggestions from a Panarchist ally. I only pray to Christ and Kali that they reach you before Seattle steamrolls the whole damn thing. If not, save them for next time, because their will always be a next time.

I, Nicky Reid aka Comrade Hermit, speaking as the biologically male autonomous zone occupied by a genderflux coven of a dozen lesbian femmes, hereby suggest the following demands for consideration by the Capital Hill Organized Protest or however you may choose to self-identify this week. 

1.  We demand the right to mitigate our own justice system through both armed and unarmed peacekeepers, free of influence from the outside police state, including but not limited to the defense of our citizens and the investigation and subsequent mode of restorative justice we choose to handle those who harm them. We will not be a party to the mockery of justice that the outside police state uses to fight crime. That fight is a fight against poor people and it will not be allowed to be waged within this space.

2.  We demand the right to open carry and the formation of civilian militias promised to us by the United States Constitution, and we reserve the right to stand our ground against all enemies, foreign or domestic, whether they wear a badge or a bandana.

3.  We demand the full banishment of all law enforcement agencies from the Seattle city limits, not just the metropolitan PD, but the Sheriffs Department, the FBI, the CIA, the NSA, the DEA, the ATF, the IRS, ICE and the Border Patrol. Seattle must become a demilitarized zone. We recognize the police state as being a lethal injection table held up by many legs and we aim to saw them all off and ride that deathbed like a surfboard to liberty across the Puget Sound.

4.  We demand that our doublespeaking, police coddling mayor, Jenny Durkin, perform an unplugged rendition of "All Apologies" on bended knee, while wearing a pilgrim buckle hat. We don't think this will do much to heal any wounds. We just think it would be fucking funny. Fuck her and all her empty platitudes to social justice.

5.  We demand that all unoccupied properties within city limits be made free game for squatters to shelter in or on and transform into additional autonomous zones of their own, if they so wish. This includes the palatial vacation homes and pool houses of the tech magnates who have made this city unlivable for poor people.

6.  We demand that once the local police state disarms, they hand over their armaments to the local homeless shelters, so that the most desperate among us have the same means as the rich to defend themselves from gentrification.

7.  We demand that truancy be decriminalized within city limits. If our schools can't stimulate their student's attention, it isn't the students who should be penalized for their failings.

8.  We demand that all students in the Seattle area be given the right to grade their teachers and that these grades have the same affect on the faculties upward mobility as the grades they give do the student's, eliminating ageist class divisions and insuring equitable treatment. 

9.  We demand that all students of all ages in the Seattle area be provided with unions of their own and that all deals made with the teacher's unions be contingent upon the approval of said student unions, so as to create equality inside the classroom and out.

10.  We demand that all Seattle area hospitals and health care facilities be governed by autonomous democratic councils made up of patients and healthcare providers, including representation for nurses and orderlies that is proportional to their percentage of the workforce.

11.  We demand that the military and all institutions that serve the military industrial complex be permanently evicted from city limits under threat of local prosecution in tandem with international law for conspiracy to commit crimes against humanity.

12.  We demand that all city taxes be paid by individuals with a net worth of $10 million or more, since these citizens are undoubtedly the recipients of federal corporate welfare. Consider it a tax on the federal government that rob us all blind. If said individuals don't like it, they can leave and take they're skyrocketing property values with them. All other taxes within city limits shall be 100% voluntary. 

13.  And finally, we demand that CHOP/CHAZ be federally recognized as an autonomous administrative division, free from further federal regulation and taxation, with the full right to govern itself however it's citizenry sees fit and with the full right to secede completely from the Union if they see fit. A right once guaranteed in the Declaration of Independence as a stopgap to the growth of the kind of tyranny that has gone unchallenged in this country and made our existence a necessity for self-defense. America chose to become an authoritarian regime. We the people choose to opt out.

Submitted for your humble consideration, from one malcontent to another.

Peace, Love & Solidarity- Nicky/CH  

Soundtrack; Songs that influenced this post

*  Only In My Dreams by Weezer
*  Joan of Arc by the Melvins
*  Ex-Lion Tamer by Wire
*  All Apologies by Nirvana
*  All My Little Words by the Magnetic Fields
*  National Crisis by Bob Mould
*  Running Up That Hill by Chromatics
*  Please Let That Be You by the Rentals
*  You Suffer by Napalm Death
*  Hip Hop by Dead Prez
*  Territorial Pissings by Nirvana 

Sunday, June 21, 2020

Silence of the Swine: Abolish the Police and Bring Back the Panthers

One thing that has become crystal fucking clear to any sane sentient creature with a pulse who has paid attention to current events over the last month is the fact that America's cherished fascist institution known as the police is completely and totally fucking useless to working class people. By night, our self-flagellating martyrs in blue become harder to find than Waldo as they're outnumbered by the most irate of the citizenry they've wronged, who've turned their rage inward towards defenseless small business' while the true target of their anger cowers in the shadows of the flames. By sunrise however, these heavily armed cowards suddenly rediscover that old fighting side of them and prove their shriveled manhood by laying into guitar-strumming pacifists with flailing truncheons, Covid-friendly tear gas, and a torrential downpour of barely-less-than-lethal rubber rounds. Just like schoolyard bullies and neo-Nazi skinheads, the neckless jarheads of the American police state are only badass' when its ten against one and that one is a sickly old peacenik that could be bowled over by a stiff wind. 

This little ritual of jackbooted nocturnal pussyfooting is only broken up when these uber-macho alpha males take the time out of their busy ruthless schedules to cry on Tucker Carlson's shoulder about how they're the real victims in all this. Speaking as a transgender anarchist who has literally had friends murdered by my local police force, there is nothing more nauseatingly hilarious then watching a bulging clump of roided-out, military armed, poster boys for toxic masculinity throw themselves a pity-parade masquerading as a press conference so they can tell faggot snowflakes like me how oppressed they are now that they're finally being called out for their hyper-homicidal behavior. "Well, I'm proud to be a pig! My pistol goes Bang! Bang! My siren goes Woo! Woo! And mommy says I'm still a hero!" "Yeah!" "That's right!" "You tell em Sarge!" For the love of Christ, talk about crisis actors. Someone bring me the world's smallest violin so I can play a maudlin tune for these blubbering baby-killers.

Naturally, the only people more sickening than the endangered white males of the right are their sycophantic, glad-handing, partners in crime in the Democratic Party. While Joe Biden is kept a safe distance from anymore black men with microphones in his basement, Nancy Pelosi and her posse of woke Clintonian dinosaurs dawn dashikis, take a knee, and work hard to heal our nation's wounds with wheel spinning empty gestures like changing the Confederate names on our war criminal factories to something more politically correct, because god knows George Floyd will rise from the grave if we can just train Bolivians to waterboard their Indians in a building named after Harriet Tubman.

All this frivolous virtue signaling is being done while the left in this country is finally making some goddamn sense again. Once radical notions like reigning in the prison industrial complex and defunding its club-swinging lackeys have become downright mainstream as the smoke settles on the greatest American uprising since 1968. Unfortunately, this also means that they are becoming downright watered down to the point of utter pointlessness. Even the Democrats not trying to distract their off-white base with glorified political blackface are selling us a bill of goods labeled as reform. Most of the few police defunding bills to actually see the light of day are merely moving the money around and changing labels on the same damn top-down police state that lynches young black men and rapes young transwomen like it's a motherfucking competitive sport.

I'm not a reformer, I'm an abolitionist. There is no reforming a system that's very premise is inherently colonialist and undemocratic. We don't need to defund the pigs, we need to fucking abolish them. That means those crybaby psychopaths in blue are fucking fired and need to find a real job that doesn't involve looting taxpayers so they can strut through other people's neighborhoods like Vic Mackey with a hard-on. I suggest stripping. They'll have to actually work for a living, serving women and queer folk, but they can hold on to the Village People uniforms and pompous sense of vanity without murdering anybody. Cue "Working for the Weekend" and crack out the singles.

Of coarse the response to this suggestion by every naysaying statist on either side of the aisle is "How do we protect our lily-white cis-het suburban communities from the Mongol hordes waiting at the gates?" This question may sound hilarious to anyone who's ever occupied a gayborhood or a barrio where the police are that Mongol horde, but it gets a lot of play in Middle-American neighborhoods like the one I currently occupy, so I'll try to respond with something a bit more sensitive than hysterical laughter. Let me see, how do I put this politely? It's called the Second fucking Amendment, stupid! There we go. 

Now even though my commie ass is technically a part of the Libertarian Party (it's a long story), I don't share my fellow party member's somewhat childish fetish for the Founding Fathers. I'm not going to sit here and attempt to convince you, much less myself, that the original intention of that amendment had anything to do with poor people of any race. It was written by a bunch of slave-raping Indian killers for Christ's sake. I will tell you that a few of the saner pederasts who authored the Bill of Rights were very much aware  that any form of less than fascist government simply could not coexist with the menace of a standing army, whether they wore redcoats or badges. They also understood that the only thing strong enough to permanently prevent this menace was a well armed populace with a civilian militia, and you don't have to go back to the Whiskey Rebellion to find a good example of one that serves the people. You just have to go back to my childhood heroes in the Black Panthers. 

In the wake of the Watts Riots and the assassination of Malcolm X, Huey Newton and Bobby Seale decided to get their Second Amendment on and start an inner city militia for black people living under the jackboot of the notoriously corrupt Oakland PD. Contrary to popular mythology, the Black Panther Party for Self-Defense actually worked pretty damn well until the feds started to fuck with it. Not only did they manage to protect they're streets from the gangsters in blue with bitchin leather-clad patrols armed with walky-talkies and law books as well as rifles and shotguns, but they started up a wide array of decentralized social services and "survival programs" that empowered disaffected youth and fought crime at its roots in the garden of urban despair. In Chicago, young Panthers like the late Fred Hampton even went so far as to convert well known street gangs to radical organizations that serviced their communities rather than preying upon them. I think we need to bring these kind of experiments in community self-defense back and make them even more radical.

I honestly believe that if allowed to flourish rather than being sabotaged by J. Edgar Hoover's Cointelpro, the Black Panthers would have likely developed into something akin to the more popular militias active now in the Middle East, who not only provide an alternative to centralized law enforcement but an alternative to the centralized state itself. The safest working class neighborhoods for minorities to live in in the Middle East are the ones governed by groups like Hezbollah and the Sadrists. I see no reason why our nation can't model their successful stateless organizational skills while "westernizing" these kinds of institutions with libertarian values like free speech, voluntarism and mutual aid.

As a Panarchist and a Syndicalist, my ideal for a democratic society is one in which every profession and social culture has a union and every union has a militia, making the notion of governments totally voluntary and non-territorial. Everyone would be free to choose what government to engage in or choose no government at all, and weigh the benefits accordingly. We need to abolish the police and bring back the Panthers, but we need to do more. We need to abolish the state by giving every individual the right to choose their own government, their own Panthers. Black Panthers, Brown Panthers, Queer Panthers, Capitalist Panthers, Communist Panthers, the possibilities are endless and we don't need any government but the ones we create in our own damn neighborhoods to make it happen.

Fuck the police and create a new underground and no force will be able to keep us down cuz we're Queer or we're Brown. Now lets get armed and organized and make some motherfucking history. It's high time we silence the swine.

Peace, Love, Empathy, & Solidarity- Nicky/CH

Soundtrack: Songs that influenced this post.

*  The Fighting Side of Me by Merle Haggard
*  Across 110th Street by Bobby Womack
*  Down Rodeo by Rage Against the Machine
*  Down in the Streets by the Stooges
*  911 is a Joke by Public Enemy
*  Kick Out the Jams by the MC5
*  The Big Payback by James Brown
*  Fuck tha Police by NWA
*  Hate to Say I Told You So by the Hives
*  I Fought the Law by Dead Kennedys
*  Workin' For the Weekend by Loverboy
*  Street Fighting Man by the Rolling Stones

Sunday, June 14, 2020

Speaking Queerly About Whiteness

White people hate to talk about race, even the supposedly woke ones. When they do, the entire conversation is almost inevitably governed by fear. With white conservatives, it's usually the fear of being made irrelevant by darker bodies. With white liberals, it's usually the fear of being outed as being just as scared as the conservatives they mock. I've never really had much trouble discussing race myself, though that does seem to get me into a lot of trouble. Identity fascinates me, probably because my own has always been so goddamn elusive. In spite of the color of my flesh, I can't recall a time in my life where I wasn't treated as an "Other". It's why I'm so fascinated by the various notions of tribalism that play such a huge roll in my work and my worldview. Now, with notions of White Supremacy and White Privilege once again becoming hot button topics, I naturally can't help myself but to enter the fray. I can't be just another pale face on the sidelines, and once again, white people are gonna be pissed. What else is new?

By far the most controversial thing I've ever wrote was an article from about a year ago in which I openly rejected my whiteness and embraced my lifelong queerness as my race. It's also naturally one of my favorite articles, but it royally pissed off my mostly white readers on both sides of the aisle, from fuzzy feel-bad hipsters to that charming old paleo grouch, Paul Craig Roberts (still love you Paul, lighten up.) People on the left seemed to think I was shirking my responsibilities to White Guilt, while people on the right seemed to think I was unfairly vilifying their race. For me, it all goes back to my queerly idiosyncratic philosophy, one ironically governed by thinkers on both the left and the right.

I've long viewed race and other class structures like gender, sexuality, sanity, and even age as being largely social constructs. It was a hardcore communist named Noel Ignatiev who taught me that whiteness was a concept designed by and for racism and imperialism. It was invented to justify the racialization of the slave trade and to control the landless Europeans, who had previously been slaves themselves, with a petty sense of privilege over the empires black property. The reason why white people, especially self-proclaimed progressives, are so goddamn shitty when it comes to talking about race is that they're left in the impossible position of defending an identity manufactured to control them and everyone else. Your average White Supremacist wouldn't have even been considered white a century or two ago. My own ancestors who came to this country to escape an Anglo genocide called the Potato Famine weren't considered white until they lost who they were and were properly assimilated into the puritan values of the same race of people they fled from.

The other major influence on my eccentric post-white values is actually an old hardcore right winger often quoted but rarely understood by those desperate honkies in the Alt-Right, a German Conservative Revolutionary named Oswald Spengler who could be a real ass but made some rather fascinating observations in his classic epic Decline of the West. My fellow queer malcontent Billy Burroughs turned me on to it. For all his White Supremacist fanfare, it was Spengler who taught me that a race, or a nation, as he referred to it, was not defined by blood and soil but rather by a shared vision and culture. The vision and culture of whiteness is not only what nearly slaughtered my Catholic ancestors back in Ireland before engulfing them in America, but my spiritual and biological opposition to these puritanical values as a heathen third gender is precisely what defines my queerness, the only culture that has ever felt like home to me.

I don't hate white people. I hate a polluted concept that keeps them from forming authentic bonds with their own communities and others. The concept of whiteness didn't just ethnically cleanse the darker continents, it ethnically cleansed the ethnic cleansers. Diverse cultures like that of the Scots, Italians, Irish, Greeks, Polish, and Germans were dissolved in a vat of acid sold as a melting pot and used to keep poor people blind and divided. Your average trailer-dwelling redneck has far more in common with Black Lives Matter than they ever will with blue-blooded populist frauds like Donald Trump. Cops kill poor people in defense of order and property. To them, we're all filthy fucking mongrels. Why not embrace it and chuck all the white pride horseshit in the fucking garbage where it belongs. Find an old race or build a new one. Stop being a prisoner to the 1%'s convoluted social experiment and get free.

I'm also not trying to outrun my pale-faced privilege. As traumatically bad as I had it growing up as a genderqueer transgirl in a conservative Catholic community, I have no doubt that I would have had it ten times worse were I a shade or two darker. But when it all comes down to it, who fucking cares? Shit can always be worse for any given minority. I realize that this sentiment is politically incorrect, but does it really fucking matter who got fucked worse? The Oppression Olympics popular with today's left is a game everybody loses but the rich. While we're busy squabbling over who got it worse, they just keep raping and pillaging and robbing us all stupid. Ditch the globalist bullshit of whiteness and own what really defines you, but remember that class is what defines us all. These social constructs were manipulated to reinforce that tyranny by dividing us and as long as we embrace identities defined by destroying it, why not destroy it together? 

I envision my queer race in a similar light to the Black Power, Chicano, and American Indian Movements which it has always overlapped with. We are a race of imperial rejects who chose to embrace our slurs and turn them against the master class who pushed us from our mother tribes. We were stripped of our original heathen identities by an imperialized Christianity and forced to create new ones from the ashes in order to defend what remained of our colonized cultures, the first cultures to be colonized. I see the Queer Nation as a Third World nation within the rusted shell of the First. A tribe of people who transgress the sexual and gender norms of White Anglo-Saxon Protestant society to express our love and our pride. A race of many colors that seeks not only to provide a borderless non-territorial homeland for the lost and and abandoned such as myself, but also seeks to be an organic device that helps our people to retain their queerness even within other pre-existing and future anti-colonialist tribal identities. And if that shit ain't woke enough for you than don't wake me. 

I'm here, dearest motherfuckers, and I'm not white, I'm Queer. But don't get use to it, cause I'm gonna burn your fucking house down.

Peace, Love, & Empathy- Nicky/CH

Soundtrack; songs that influenced this post

*  Burning Down the House by Talking Heads
*  White Minority by Black Flag
*  Awoo by the Hidden Cameras
*  Young Americans by David Bowie
*  Jason by Perfume Genius
*  Wolf Like Me by TV on the Radio
*  Ocean Size by Janes Addiction
*  List of Demands by Saul Williams
*  Your Best American Girl by Mitski
*  Be a Body by Grimes
*  Guilty of Being White by Minor Threat
*  The Day the Politicians Died by the Magnetic Fields

Sunday, June 7, 2020

A Message Written in Fire: In Defense of Social Upheaval

It always ends this way, you can almost set your watch to it. A glamorous soirée rambling into the wee hours of the morning in an opulent townhouse on a tony tree lined street of any given international city. The kind of event held for some obscure charity to save a species of bird that likely never existed as anything but excuse for a deceptively benevolent orgy like this. Glamorous beautiful people with household names, dressed to the nine in three-piece-suits and silk gowns that cost more than most people will see in a lifetime. Ornate ballrooms echo with the bellowing sounds of the kind of excess that only this kind of downright flammable income can afford. Senators and Wall Street bankers dry hump underage courtesans, slurping Champaign twice their age and snorting Scarface-grade amounts of the same kind of narcotics they have twelve year old children of color locked up for decades for peddling in dime bags. Obnoxious plastic debutantes force theatrical laughter at racist jokes delivered by the direct descendants of Mayflower monsters and slave drivers. The only people of color are token police chiefs dressed like ornate African dictators. The only poor people are servants and the victims of white slavery, but suddenly they become very scarce. 

Half empty horderve dishes litter the marble floors and bottomless cocktails go un refilled. The bourgeoise guests begin to scoff and bitch amongst themselves until loud explosions can be heard in the not so far distance. "Fireworks!" some dizzy general's wife exclaims ignorantly and everyone becomes silent for a moment until a flaming trash can comes crashing through the plate glass window, scattering ashen refuge across the Persian carpets. The privileged partygoers gather at the windows to see an ocean of unwashed faces flooding the streets like a human storm, lit by torches and Molotov cocktails. Some of them carry rifles, most just sticks and pipes. A handful busy themselves assembling a makeshift guillotine in a nearby park. The beautiful people gasp and clutch their pearls, but it's already too late. It always ends this way, every empire built on the broken backs of the poor, from Carthage to Bastille. What makes them think it could ever end any differently?

No, dearest motherfuckers, the violent uprisings multiplying in cities across the American Empire and beyond are not this end, not yet at least. They are merely a warning. A message written in fire to our current elites reading, "Your days of plenty are numbered!" to paraphrase a favorite film of mine. After another grotesque public lynching of what seems like the thousandth unarmed black man, poor people of every race have finally had enough. They have decided to draw a flaming line in the sand, constructed with turned over cop cars and shattered brand name boutiques. This was inevitable, and this article is neither an endorsement nor a condemnation on my part, but merely a weather report. This uprising is not a conspiracy or a movement, but a man-made natural disaster like the roaring wildfires of climate change. I am merely an articulate weathergirl, but any illiterate fool can tell you which way the wind blows.

It's popular for journalists and media types to look down their noses at the excesses of populist violence. I won't do that. I haven't the right and neither do they. I may personally be far from a pacifist but I am a devout believer in that old libertarian spiritual tradition known as the Non-Aggression Principle, that condemns all initiatory violence and teaches us to never throw the first punch. But I cannot ignore the uncomfortable fact that for many of these besieged neighborhoods this is not the first but rather the 17th or 18th strike. Black and brown people, and many poor whites as well, have lived under the knee of a fascist gestapo state for generations, undertaking daily humiliations from an occupying force of heavily armed thugs from the suburbs who behave like wicked gods behind badges. The news wants the peasants to ask nicely to be treated with the respect you would afford a goddamn farm animal. But haven't we all been asking nicely for decades?

We asked nicely after Trayvon Martin. We asked nicely after Eric Garner. We asked nicely after Freddie Gray, Breanna Taylor, and my friend Osaze Osagie. But all their killers walked free. They stroll the streets whistling like cartoon wolves who've gotten away with bloody murder because that's precisely what they did. We asked nicely with Martin Luther King, Fred Hampton, Malcolm X, and Huey Newton, but all our pacifists and pragmatists have been shot dead. The chalk outlines still haunt us on the sidewalks long after their blood has been washed away. We asked nicely with Black Lives Matter, but those pleas too fell on deaf ears. So now George Floyd is dead and it's a new day in America, where only black rage seems to count for a goddamn thing.

This is tragic. It didn't have to be this way. I am the daughter of a small business owner. I grew up watching my mother build something proud from nothing, it still inspires my commitment to this blog. No hardworking person should have to watch that go up in flames. But I'm also a Queer person, a transwoman who's identity is too complicated for binary choices on bathroom doors. This month marks the 51st anniversary of the Stonewall Riots, where irate dykes and drag queens said enough with beatings and having white hands thrust up their skirts and went toe to toe with New York's finest street gang. A movement was built on the ashes of torched cop cars outside a dingy fag bar that night. A movement that may have literally saved my life and countless others. So who am I to tell the United Ghettos of Amerika that they can't have a taste of liberation too? We pretend like force never works but sometimes it does, usually in conjunction with the kind of peaceful protests we've seen bloom from this carnage in recent days. A diversity of tactics. This is what ended the Vietnam War. This is what forced America's unwilling hand on labor and civil rights. There were riots between the guns with flowers in their barrels, war cries between the Baptist hymns. Los Angeles had to be burned to the ground before anybody got serious about reigning the gangsters of the LAPD in.

It's not too late. The beautiful people who selfishly horde power in this empire could just let go. We might even let them keep their pilfered riches if they could just end this 500 year campaign of greed, of raping and pillaging the Third World at home and abroad, of Manifest Destiny and indispensable power. If they could just stop dropping their bombs. If they could just let our children walk free from their prisons. If they could just give us back our streets. But who are we kidding? It always ends this way. Our so-called president hides behind a forest of soldiers, cowering in his own mess in the irritable bowels of the White House, as the hands of the poor and perpetually fucked-with shake the bars around him. Even a belligerent imbecile like him knows its over. The grand illusion of our "democracy" has been demystified. There's nothing left but pure uncut fascism and they don't have enough knees to lynch us all. Yes, dearest motherfuckers, it doesn't take a weathergirl to tell you that it always ends this way, but here I am. Somethings never change.

Peace, Love, & Empathy- Nicky/CH

Soundtrack: Songs that influenced this post.

*  Rebel Without a Pause by Public Enemy
*  Subterranean Homesick Blues by Bob Dylan
*  Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley
*  Wild in the Streets by Circle Jerks
*  Sleep Now in the Fire by Rage Against the Machine
*  Free to Decide by the Cranberries
*  Police Truck by Dead Kennedys
*  Express Yourself by NWA
*  Bring the Noise by Public Enemy
*  Life on Mars by David Bowie
*  Like a Rolling Stone by Drive-By Truckers

Sunday, May 31, 2020

Because Imperialists Rape: Anarcha-Feminism In the Ashes of the MeToo Era

The MeToo Movement died last month. It bled out slowly as it limped to the barn. It's hard to say who the triggerman was behind the coup de grace, but it wasn't Joe Biden. That derelict beast is anything but a feminist and this wound was clearly self-inflicted. My guess is the artery was severed by Nancy Pelosi during a press conference when she uttered the appalling epitaph, "Joe Biden is Joe Biden.", officially declaring the unspoken hypocrisy that certain rapists are above the law by divine right of political convenience.

Nancy is hardly the reliable feminist herself, but at that moment she appeared to be speaking for a movement that had collectively sacrificed its conscience, in some sick ritual slaughter, to the gods of partisan lesser-evilism. One by one, the majority of this grassroots movement's leadership capitulated to these gods, responding to the testimony of their fellow survivor, Tara Reade, with a shrug at best and outright character assassination at worst. Rose McGowan seemed to stand alone again in her rage and indignation, this time abandoned by her own sisters. I feel her rage. Though this is hardly the first time the movement was ambushed by white cis-gender liberals and it probably wont be the last, I have never been more ashamed to be a feminist.

My feminism is far from orthodox. How could it be? There is nothing orthodox about me. Though my birth certificate reads male, I have long known this to be a lie. I spent the first half of my childhood happily genderless as an oblivious transgender tomboy before spending the second half shell shocked by my difference when it became undeniable during the maelstrom of a very Catholic puberty. The fear of hell chased me so deep into the closet that the splinters and spider bites became infected with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Agoraphobia.

I blamed myself for years for these ailments. After all, wasn't I asking for it? But feminism, Marxism and anarchism helped me to realize that I had been the victim of Catholic Patriarchy and led me to reject any authority capable of inflicting that kind of harm on the innocent. My complicated gender identity wasn't the only thing that made me something of an outlier among fellow feminists. My own quirky leftist values were informed by a strange homegrown recipe brewed by the Catholic Worker Movement, the Consistent Life Ethic and the agrarian Anabaptist anarchism of my Amish neighbors. I remain highly critical of abortion and the glass ceiling commercialism of many Second Wave Feminists. I also feel a close bond with my ostracized sisters in the sex industry and could never quite stomach the way elitists like Gloria Steinem patronized any woman who didn't fit their First World mold of the enlightened feminist.

Naturally, these idiosyncrasies have led me to view any mass movement with a heavier dose of skepticism than most, and MeToo was no exception. While I relished the Karma of victims using the democratic hammer of social media to turn the tables on the predators who have long used the corridors of power as camouflage for their recreational violence, I also worried that a nation still inflicted with the cancer of puritanism could use such a movement to justify it's continued sexual repression and I wasn't wrong. Though I have yet to see an obviously innocent man pilloried by this movement, I have observed its malign influence on workplace politics, where any form of sexual expression amongst the proles has been outlawed as taboo. I have also never been entirely comfortable with the trial by Twitter approach to any crime. This bodes the million dollar question of do I believe all women?

Well, I can tell you dearest motherfuckers, without a shadow of a doubt, that I believe Tara Reade for the same reasons I believe Juanita Broaddrick, Christine Blasey Ford, and Donald Trump's bevy of accusers. I believe women who accuse political predators of sexual predation because as an anarcha-feminist I know that hierarchies of any kind, be they religious, corporate, judicial, or governmental, are structures built on an architecture of exploitation. I believe Tara Reade for the same reason I would believe any credible woman who accused Ted Bundy of assaulting her, because anyone capable of murdering 40 women is more than capable of "lesser" acts of brutality. The same goes for anyone capable of 40,000 or 400,000 murders as the Bidens and the Clintons of this world are guilty of, with their casually cruel policies in the Middle East.

Do you really think that's a coincidence? That men capable of ordering drone strikes the way you or I order a fucking pizza might suffer from similar forms of sociopathic depravity in their private lives? Why do you think Jeffrey Epstein was so popular with Democrats and Republicans alike? Why do you think nearly every president from Kennedy to Reagan has nearly as many accusers as they do wars under their belts? Because Imperialists rape, in the Mekong Delta or the country club. They are predators by the very nature of their chosen careers, and you don't just turn that kind of entitled violence off when you head home from the office in the evening.

The MeToo Movement was built on the assumption that this kind of cross-over violence was partisan in nature. That only openly sexist conservatives were capable of such evil. They couldn't handle the stone cold reality that Democrats were just as capable for the same reason people can't seem to handle the reality that Democrats are war mongers too. Because nobody, not even aggressive iconoclasts like me, wants to believe that there are no good guys. But the truth is, that among the powerful, good guys will always be in the minority because power itself is the problem. Women and children and men too (and everything beyond and between) will continue to be viewed from on high as prey until that power is destroyed, not through an election or even an online movement, but through a motherfucking revolution, like the kind brewing in the streets of cities across this fine empire as we speak.

Enough is enough, dearest motherfuckers. Let that fire burn. For all of us living beneath a cruel master's knee. Fight the real enemy. Fight the powers at be.

Peace, Love, & Solidarity- Nicky/CH

Soundtrack; songs that influenced this post

*  Drunken Butterfly by Sonic Youth
*  Only Women Bleed by Alice Cooper
*  Asking For It by Hole
*  Rock n Roll Nigger by Patti Smith
*  I Like Fucking by Bikini Kill
*  Your Dog by Soccer Mommy
*  Cornflake Girl by Tori Amos
*  Woman is the Nigger of the World by John Lennon & Yoko Ono
*  Kool Thing by Sonic Youth
*  Fight the Power by Public Enemy

Sunday, May 24, 2020

Proudhon v. Facebook: A Mutualist Solution to Cyber Tyranny

I'm pretty sure this place use to be a democracy. Not America. Contrary to what Broadway may have told you, even our saintly Founding Fathers were little more than racist neocons in pantaloons. I'm talking about the fucking internet. The Anarchist's American Dream. A brave new world wrestled from the savages of the military industrial complex who birthed it and wilded into a stateless candy land of endless possibilities by fuzzy little daydream believers like Steve Wozniak and Richard Stallman. The place that gave us Linux and Anonymous and Napster. That land of a million possibilities where no kink was left without a chatroom and a 12 year old hacker in Ethiopia could take down the American Federal Government just for the lulz. That glorious pirate utopia of  temporary autonomous zones foretold by Hakim Bey, where only censorship was taboo and any lunatic with a Commodore could say whatever the fuck they wanted about the latest twat in the White House and the only recourse was to bitch and troll. Even a confirmed Luddite like myself couldn't help but to look upon this satanic majesty and swell with pride at the seemingly inevitable supremacy of raw chaos.

Those memories are still so fresh in my mind but they seem quite quaint now. Much like the Wild West, those bad old all-or-nothing days seem to have given way to the scourge of untrammeled crony capitalism. Social media sites which once braved the criticism of the normies and Karens of the straight world have become colossal bureaucratic monstrosities, operating in tandem with America's deep state to censor our blessed digital commons in the name of national security and combatting whatever the powers at be deem to be fake news. Facebook has taken the lead in this Orwellian jihad, unleashing a beige wave of crypto-fascist algorithms to flush out what they call "Coordinated inauthentic behavior" or CIB. In this latest purge, they have proudly published monthly reports announcing the extrajudicial destruction of some 46 pages, 91 accounts, and 2 groups, all of which we are promised with scant evidence are operations of Kremlin sponsored skullduggery. A crime that could be better summed up as being an upstart news source with views that don't support the western values of blind globalism and "humanitarian" regime change.

And so it goes, as Nick Lowe once sang, where it's goin' no one knows. But I have a bad feeling that the big Stalinesque show trials of Slavic friendly news sites like Southfront and Newsfront are just the tip of a very censorious iceberg. Since the mainstream media let their lust for ratings get an embarrassing imbecile like Trump elected, they've doubled down on the Russiagate fairy tale they tell themselves in the mirror to get to sleep every night and rained down a four year shitstorm on the hardworking muckrakers of the Fifth Estate like myself. You can't seem to so much as fart in the wrong direction on platforms like Facebook without getting a thirty day ban for one lame excuse or another. These seemingly insignificant acts of knee-jerk censorship can be devastating to little blogs like mine that have grown to depend on social media and the implied democracy it was once built on. The most tragic thing for a politically incorrect commie like me is to see my own comrades become savage little Eichmann's of the status quo and relish in this toxic culture of censorship in the name of social justice and supposedly anti-fascist deplatforming.

It has become a dreadfully common spectacle to see cliques of self-proclaimed anarchists circle the wagons and snitch out political incorrectness to the proper authorities on places like Twitter. What's worse is they seem to have convinced themselves that they are performing their anarchist duty by ratting out Nazi scum, and sure, it begins with disgusting Alt-Right creeps, who's non-existent honor I wont even attempt to defend even though I will be lynched defending their rights, but soon everyone who disagrees with the herd becomes a target and any transgression becomes an excuse to have them eliminated until we're left with anarcho-communists trolling primitivists and libertarians just to provoke a response that they can report to Big Brother.

Their excuse is that it doesn't count as censorship if it's not approved by the state, which is patently absurd. We are anarchists for Kropotkin's sake, we don't even believe in the state, which only leaves private and public governments, like the ones we form every day, to regulate human rights. If we don't selfishly uphold the principle of free speech as an anarchist principle, even for the sick cunts who hate us, then who will? It's this kind of reactionary violent mob mentality that gives anarchism a bad name. We can do better than this. If I can bare the weight of having skinheads threaten to rape me for being a transfeminist, then surely a bunch of macho Antifa street fighters can bare having their feelings hurt by MAGA morons without telling the teacher on them. Fight your own battles. Call out the cunts for being cunts. But if we become the censors of unpopular opinion, we won't be smashing the state so much as replacing it.

However, this issue is really much bigger than free speech and I'm frankly a little shocked that I seem to be the first leftist to notice. On the one hand, this is very much a labor issue in the Marxian tradition. These are multi-billion dollar companies getting filthy fucking rich off our creative labor. Nobody goes to Facebook to hang out with bougie nuevo-creepazoids like Mark Zuckerberg. We the dweebs are the keyboard laborers in this strange new economy. Not being paid is one thing, but not being afforded any sense of ownership over the means of our production and handing over total control to a faceless class of cyber-managers should piss off any self-respecting lefty worth their weight in agit-prop. And then there is the issue of property rights.

When it comes to politics, I'm all over the left hemisphere of the map, taking direction from everyone from Che Guevara to Benjamin Tucker. But when it comes to property, I tend to look to an underrated 19th Century French philosopher named Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, an old pen pal of Karl's who was the first bomb-chucking motherfucker to proudly proclaim himself an anarchist. Pierre was also the founding father of mutualism, a school of libertarian socialism that preaches that ownership should be based primarily on occupation or possession, over management. The idea is that if you occupy a space and work that land, then the fruits of that labor belong to you and you alone. If this space is occupied by many inhabitants, say like an apartment or a social media site, then the only democratic way to operate it is cooperatively. There can be a negotiated association fee paid for basic upkeep, which the add revenue we drive on social media platforms more than covers, but any other capitulation amounts to little more than a surrender to slumlordism and shouldn't be tolerated by any self-respecting anarchist.

In an age when more and more of our lives have become digital, the new commons exists largely online and this once promising utopia has become a dystopian company town. It was we the proletariat geeks who built the Facebooks and Twitters of the world. I say we either take them back or abandon them to the same fate as ghost towns like Myspace. Anarchists need to take a stand against all authoritarian hierarchies in our lives, not just the totalitarian regimes of Washington and Wall Street, but the ones in Silicon Valley as well. These are our spaces and censorship of one should be treated as censorship to all. Bloggers of the world unite and take over!

Peace, Love, Solidarity & Empathy- Nicky/CH

Soundtrack; songs that influenced this post

*  So It Goes by Nick Lowe
*  Surface Envy by Sleater-Kinney
*  Come As You Are by Nirvana
*  Rise Above by Black Flag
*  For An Old Kentucky Anarchist by the Orphans
*  Brooklyn Bridge to Chorus by the Strokes
*  Big Ideas by LCD Soundsystem
*  Anyone Can Play Guitar by Midwife
*  Margin Walker by Fugazi
*  Thriving by Diet Cig
*  1905 by the Tallest Man On Earth