Tag: prisoner solidarity

Repost from: June 11th

We once again approach June 11th, a day of remembrance and active solidarity, in a world of multiple crises and struggles for liberation. All of these are interconnected; there are no separate worlds. Across borders, languages, contexts, and identities, both catastrophes and victories of spirit and defiance reverberate around the globe. One environment is not untouched by another. The personal is not separate from the political. The positive project is not separate from that of destruction. Prison is not separate from the “free world.” Means are not separate from ends. Bridging these divides is a shared curiosity and commitment; bridging these divides is solidarity. This is not to flatten or oversimplify diversity and differences in circumstance, intensity, and consequence. Rather, that these different pieces are held together like organs of the body held by connective tissue. So we consider: how do we strengthen this connective tissue? How do we remain strong, yet supple and flexible? Bridges, connection, must also be built through time, especially in a world that moves too fast, from one crisis to the next. June 11th aspires to be one of these bridges: to build solidarity across borders, between movements, and among generations. Remembering and supporting long-term prisoners, as well as carrying on shared struggles, are two ways to strengthen this connective tissue. A stronger connective tissue will, in turn, bolster us against further repression.

Each year, as part of our effort to be a bridge between movements, time, and borders, we assess the terrain. We consider what threats from the state look like at this time, how imprisoned comrades can be connected to activity on the outside, how have the struggles they are a part of continued despite repression, and how remembering those locked up can become a natural part of anarchist activity. Often repression and criminalization feel new; but frequently, this is a failure of memory. There are innovations to pay attention to, while seeing their lineage in tactics and ideologies used against our forebears. What can we learn from how people have responded in the past? What can we learn from people in times and places where innovative repressive tactics were developed, and how can we act in complicity alongside them?

As the day of solidarity nears, we are struck by the unfolding of the current terrain; the horrors abound, and confront us in new ways, but these are also patterns and histories in repetition. Power is scrambling to maintain itself amidst the uncertainty of our fragilely constructed society, and individuals and groups continue on with our refusal of their world. We see continued colonial violence, through prisons, guns, bombs, and nationalist ideologies in places such as Palestine, Ukraine, and West Papua. Too, extremely harsh treatments of people in Russia acting against militarism and colonialism, as well as the criminalization of pro-Palestinian activity all over the world.

Palestinians, fighting for their freedom and against policing, surveillance and detention for decades, have faced an all-out culmination of violence and genocide at the hands of the Israeli state — crisis and colonial violence continue to rapidly unfold. So too, does an intense current of Palestinian resistance: solidarity actions have taken place across the globe in attempts to refuse complicity and the feelings of powerlessness fueled by the geographical distance, the 24-hour news cycle, and the propaganda and war machines that abound.

As people continue to flee their regions due to capitalist and imperialist-made violence, and the catastrophic consequences of climate collapse, we are witnessing a renewed fear-mongering at U.S and European borders, as white supremacist militias murmur about confronting ‘migrant caravans’, and individual states implement a greater level of violence to keep people out of artificial borders. This crisis extends throughout the globe, as people worldwide move to eek out any stability, and others rush to enforce the promised order of borders and citizenship.

Colonial violence springs up daily, in guns drawn and territory stolen, in extraction projects and the expansion of policed land, and in the loss of the last wild spaces. But resistance to a homogeneous and hollow future being sold to us by tech-giants, green capitalists and the State still continues across the world. Pipelines, cell-towers, and extraction infrastructure is being targeted, both in individual sabotage, as well as ongoing land defense world-wide. The dependence of this noxious future on policing, surveillance, and control couldn’t be clearer, and struggles are confronting the ways these practices interact. Rebellions break out against police, prisons, and the indignity and macabre realities of daily life. For every crisis, and moment of resistance we could list, there are countless others simmering, exploding, or simply being disappeared from the public, global view. Freedom and resistance always find their way through the cracks of this horrifying society.

Public food serves being harassed, heightened criminalization of houseless populations, RICO charges for bail funds and the “conspiracy” of anarchist ideas and practices, as well as proximity, associations and social networks. Intense and courageous acts of sabotage continue. Everything is new, and nothing is. The question is not ‘what are the solutions?’, but ‘how do we expand, deepen and intensify what we already know works?’. How do we see ourselves in one another, how do we understand our plights as intertwined, as inseparable, and how can we continue to expand these relationships of solidarity. How do we embrace the reality that there are no separate worlds, and explore the ways that we can break through the limiting effects of prison walls, border walls, time, place and context.

There are moments worth celebrating, when we feel the opening of possibilities and capacity, of cohesion and strength; there are certainly also many moments to mourn, when it feels like we’re losing it all and our bodies or spirits are taking a beating. We can savor a touch of solace when we notice the deep desperation apparent in the moves of the state. They’re scrambling, finding new ways to criminalize even the most basic of acts. This can serve to motivate us. If anything even vaguely anarchist is enough to throw us to the helm of repression, we must choose to live our lives as we decide, regardless of the consequences. As more and more of us interact with repression, jails, courts, prisons, let this possibility be a never-ending invitation towards continuing to remember and include those locked away as an ongoing part of our moves toward getting free. Time, geography, the barriers of the prison wall-none of these are strong enough to obliterate the vast network of bridges that keep us interdependent, connected, fighting the same enemies of freedom, worldwide.

This year saw the passing of many who carried the vivacious anarchist spirit. Some may be known to us, while many remain unknown. They sowed rebelliousness in every path they walked. Perhaps their impact is incalculable, though never nonexistent. We can carry the same spirit, traverse similar paths, and remain steadfast and diligent, just as those who have come before us have. Rest in power: Alfredo Bonanno, Klee Benally, Ed Mead, Sekuo Odinga, Tortuguita, Aaron Bushnell.

Rest in power to all of those whose names we’ve never uttered, not known, but who walked these lengths, nonetheless. Time is merely constructed; those that have come before us, and passed onto death, still impact the lives of the living, still contribute to the history of anarchists and anti-authoritarians, and our shared struggle. Let us make them a part of our active memory, and continue forward, in a fight for lives against domination. May these words spark a fire in you-encourage you to get up, forge ahead and seek what it might feel like, to live like you’re trying to get free.

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