Excerpt: academia.edu/2046034/Childrens_Oppression_Rights_and_Liberation (Citations Omitted)

We live in a culture of abuse. With acknowledgement that these numbers are insufficient due to underreporting: more than 60% of adults in the so-called United States have experienced at least one ACE (Adverse Childhood Experience) and a quarter of adults have experienced three or more ACEs. Over 33% of women and 25% of men have experienced rape, physical violence, and/or stalking by an intimate partner in their lifetime. Systemic marginalization and oppression increases one’s vulnerability to intimate violence: disabled women experience intimate partner violence at a rate 40% higher than non-disabled women, 45.1% of Black women and 40.1% of Black men have experienced intimate partner violence in their lifetimes, 43.8% of lesbian women and 61.1% of bisexual women have experienced intimate partner violence at some point in their lifetime, 26% of gay men and 37.3% of bisexual men have experienced intimate partner violence in their lifetime, more than half (54%) of all transgender people have experienced some form of intimate partner violence, immigrant women experience domestic violence at 3 times the national average, and low income women are five times more likely to experience intimate partner violence than wealthier women.

I grew up in a right-wing household in a rural, predominantly right-wing, community. I was groomed and eventually sexually assaulted by my right-wing Christian father who was highly regarded by everyone in the community who knew him. I was taken to purity balls every year starting at five years old, in which young girls danced with our fathers and ritualistically promised ownership of our sexuality to them until the day that they would “give” us to our future husbands. I was raised to know exactly what was expected of me as a “good” daughter, and viciously punished and suppressed whenever I dared to question or appeared to act outside of my assigned role. What was good for me, for my sense of self or autonomy, was never part of anyone’s consideration in how I was raised. Foremost in adults’ minds was how I could best be molded and shaped into the exact person they thought I should be, regardless of how much pain that process caused. When I eventually broke their mold (and as a transgender butch anarchist, break it I most certainly did), those same adults immediately blamed “outside agitators” like liberal teachers and the mere existence of other queer people for my apparent “change.” My experience of this was not especially unique from the experience of my peers in other right-wing households. In fact, it was, and remains, the norm.

W nocy 16. listopada 1982 w Cheyenne, Wyoming (Stany Zjednoczone), Richard Jahnke Senior wysiadł ze swojego samochodu i wszedł w zasięg strzelby trzymanej przez jego szesnastoletniego syna, Richarda Juniora. Młody Richard wystrzelił sześciokrotnie, trafiając swojego ojca w pierś cztery razy. W środku domu, jego siedemnastoletnia siostra, Deborah czekała w salonie trzymając samopowtarzalny karabinek M-1. Nie musiała strzelać. Godzinę po strzałach Richard Senior umarł z powodu ran zadanych przez jego syna.

“Anarchism” is an open word whose contours and meaning are shaped by the long struggle for Black liberation, by the centuries-long resistance to racial slavery, settler colonialism, capitalism, state violence, genocide, and anti-Blackness. “Anarchism” gathers and names the practices of mutual aid and the programs for survival that have sustained us in the face unimaginable violence. It unfolds with and as Black feminism and Indigenous struggle. It offers a blueprint for radical transformation, for the possibilities of existence beyond the world of scarcity and managed depletion, enclosure, and premature death. In The Nation on No Map, William C. Anderson elaborates the anarchism of Blackness, joining a cohort of radical thinkers devoted to dreaming and rehearsing how we might live otherwise in the present and break with the fatal terms of the given, the brutal imposed order of things. The Nation on No Map is a compact and expansive text that sketches the long history of Black struggle against racial slavery, U.S. apartheid, and the settler state and asks us to consider a vision of politics that no longer has the state as its object or horizon and eschews the calcified forms of politics as usual.

Organizations have a lot of downsides. Anyone who’s ever attended a meeting recognizes this on some level. And yet most folks persist in an either instinctive or confused idealization of forming and participating in organizations.

This zine is an ongoing project I’ve been writing in my head and on paper for several years now. Since I decided to become permanently sober several years ago, I've constantly struggled to find safe spaces; I hoped that when I started to become a part of radical, activist, and anarchist communities, that I would find folks who shared or at least respected my convictions. Instead, I found a painful paradox: radical scenes that were so welcoming and affirming in many ways, yet incredibly inflexible and unsupportive around my desire to be in sober spaces.

Esto es acerca de las llamadas “relaciones no-monógamas”, sobre algunos de los beneficios de intentar una de las alternativas al modelo de amor de “salir/casarse/divorciarse”. Tu respuesta a este artículo probablemente sea similar a la que yo tuve unos años atrás cuando leí una discusión sobre el tema por David Sandstrom en el fanzine sueco Handbook for Revolutionaries: “Buena idea, pero no va conmigo, por supuesto…”. Resultó que yo estaba equivocado. Si he de recordar una lección que haya aprendido una y otra vez, debería darme cuenta de que a menudo las ideas que me incomodan o me hacen poner a la defensiva al principio a la larga se convierten en las más importantes para mí. No quiero decir que vaya a ofrecer un programa al que deban unirse inmediatamente, pero no podemos poner más enfasis en que debemos abirnos a nuevas ideas, por si acaso resultan ser útiles en nuestras vidas.

This is about so-called “non-monogamous relationships,” about some of the benefits of trying out one of the alternatives to the formulaic dating/marriage/divorce model for love. Your response to this article will probably be similar to the one I had a few years ago when I read a discussion of the same subject by David Sandstrom in the Swedish zine Handbook for Revolutionaries: “good idea, but, uh, not relevant to me, of course…” It turned out I was wrong. Had I remembered a lesson I’ve learned over and over, I would have realized that often the ideas that make me the most defensive and uncomfortable at first turn out to be the most important for me in the long run. Not to say that I’m offering a program that you must all immediate adjust yourselves to… but we can’t remind each other enough to be open to new ideas, in case they do prove to be helpful in our lives.

Relationship anarchy questions the idea that love is a limited resource that can only be real if restricted to a couple. You  have capacity to love more than one person, and one relationship and the love felt for that person does not diminish love felt for another. Don’t rank and compare people and relationships - cherish the individual and your connection to them. One person in your life does not need to be named primary for the relationship to be real. Each relationship is independent, and a relationship between autonomous individuals.

Ni los llamamientos de los republicanos para que se aumenten las armas y la vigilancia policial, ni las exigencias de los demócratas para que se controlen más las armas, pueden poner fin a la epidemia de tiroteos masivos en Estados Unidos. El problema es más profundo de lo que cualquiera de estos enfoques puede abordar.

Neither Republican calls for more guns and policing nor Democrat demands for more gun control can put an end to the epidemic of mass shootings in the United States. The problem runs deeper than either of these approaches can address.

At its best, security culture can be beautiful – we create practices together to protect ourselves and one another, building trust to open our relationships up to the potential for shared action. This can feel like nurturing a sense of complicity and solidarity, not just with our immediate comrades, but with anarchists and rebels everywhere. Everyone spreading the flames of revolt holds precious secrets together with their trusted comrades, and this keeps our fight alive.

Me: Stop filming or I smash your camera.

Moi: Arrête de filmer ou je te fracasse ta caméra.

Thanks to reporting from Colorado Springs Independent, it is now public knowledge that Colorado Springs Police infiltrated the Chinook Center and a number of orgs that organize there such as Colorado Springs DSA and Colorado Springs Tenant Union, using a pink haired cop named April Rogers who went by Chelsie Kurti and pretended to be a sex worker.

This zine explores how identity can provide camouflage that allows for intentional or incidental disruption of radical circles and organizing, and how the security culture we’ve developed to mitigate many threats can clash with the anti-racist, anti-sexist, and otherwise progressive norms within our movements. What this zine is not is a full review of the glaringly obvious ways that our organizing can be disrupted by direct defamation from State and State-adjacent actors or through the abuses committed by members of our radical communities with dominant identities who wield (white patriarchal) power. Those threats exist, but they are also the ones most frequently addressed.

Informant: a person recruited by police to provide information

This pamphlet was written collaboratively by a group of people of color, women, and queers – and is offered in deep solidarity with anyone committed to ending identity-based oppression and exploitation materially. By “materially,” we simply mean that we do not believe that consciousness raising or vague changes in personal attitudes can disrupt, delegitimate, and ultimately dismantle systems of domination.

La vita non è che una ricerca continua di qualcosa a cui aggrapparsi. Ci si alza al mattino per ritrovarsi, uno stock d’ore più tardi, di nuovo a letto, tristi pendolari tra il vuoto di desideri e la stanchezza. Il tempo passa e ci comanda con un pungolo sempre meno fastidioso. Le prestazioni sociali sono un fardello che non sembra ormai piegare le spalle, perché lo portiamo con noi ovunque. Obbediamo senza la fatica di dir di sì. La morte si sconta vivendo, scriveva il poeta da un’altra trincea.

La vita non è che una ricerca continua di qualcosa a cui aggrapparsi. Ci si alza al mattino per ritrovarsi, uno stock d’ore più tardi, di nuovo a letto, tristi pendolari tra il vuoto di desideri e la stanchezza. Il tempo passa e ci comanda con un pungolo sempre meno fastidioso. Le prestazioni sociali sono un fardello che non sembra ormai piegare le spalle, perché lo portiamo con noi ovunque. Obbediamo senza la fatica di dir di sì. La morte si sconta vivendo, scriveva il poeta da un’altra trincea.

Life is no more than a continual search for something to cling to. One gets up in the morning to find oneself in bed a mere matter of hours later, a sad commuter between lack of desire and fatigue. Time passes, spurring us less and less. Social obligations no longer seem to break our backs as we have got used to spreading the weight. We obey without even taking the trouble to say yes. Death is expiated by living, wrote the poet from another trench.

Wat volgt zijn de aantekeningen van een lezing gegeven in Berlijn, Athene, en Marseille in 2020.

Es folgen die Aufzeichnungen zu einem Vortrag, der 2020 in Berlin, Athen und Marseille gehalten wurde.