How could anarchists maintain such a pitch of activity, such an optimism of the will, in the face of such pessimism of the intellect? As prefigurative politics, anarchism can entail a paradoxically pessimistic attitude toward the possibility of arriving at a revolutionary moment: a certain historical amor fati or “anarcho-fatalism.” Francis Dupuis-Déri notes precisely such an indifference toward “the revolution” as event among contemporary anarchist activists. Instead of deferring desires into a utopian future seen as imminent, anarchist activists seek to make their desires as immanent as possible—to demand more from their relationships, from the process of political activity, from their everyday lives.45 While Dupuis-Déri attributes contemporary anarcho-fatalism in part to a realistic reckoning of the poor prospects for a classical “revolution” in the relatively affluent and stable global North, such an orientation is hardly a recent phenomenon; we find it clearly and forcefully theorized in the writings of Gustav Landauer (1870–1919), anarchist martyr of the abortive German revolution of 1919.
In Die Revolution, written in 1911 and reissued on the eve of the actual event itself, Landauer took up Proudhon’s suggestion that “there is a permanent revolution in history,” reinterpreting history in terms of a continuity of revolutionary energies—sometimes forced “underground,” at other times erupting into the open air.46 In this interpretation, revolution becomes not a historically and geographically isolated event but a more nebulous process that only occasionally condenses into decisive moments—“evolution preceding revolution,” as Elisée Reclus put it, “and revolution preceding a new evolution, which is in turn the mother of future revolutions.”47 This takes the logic of revolution far from the scientific pretensions of historical materialism. Indeed, where Marx rebuked Bakunin for looking to “willpower” and not “economic conditions” as the source of revolution, for Landauer, it is precisely will and desire, social emotions, that are the primary revolutionary forces: revolution is “possible at all times, if enough people want it”:48
Little is to be expected from external conditions, and people think too much about the environment, the future, the others, separating means and ends too much, as if an end could be attained in this way. Too often you think that if the end is glorious, dubious means must also be justified. But only the moment exists for us; do not sacrifice the reality to the chimera! If you seek the right life, live it now; you make it difficult by seeking it outside yourselves, in the future, and for the sake of this beautiful future you fill your present with ugliness.… If the glory and the kingdom of God on earth should ever come for the world, for the masses, for people and nations, can it come in any way other than by the fact that one immediately begins to do what is right?49
If we can await nothing from “external conditions,” we must demand everything from ourselves, from within. This inward turn, however, is not to be understood as a subjective substitute for social action (like one of the “revolutions from within” peddled by pop psychologists); it is a fully social and material attempt to come to grips with the world. Like Gatti’s tunnel, it is a “line of flight”—“not a leap into another realm,” Todd May explains, but “a production within the realm of that from which it takes flight.”50 In short, this is a matter of resistance, of finding ways, “at every instant,” to “withdraw from injustice.”51 In the words of Landauer’s essay, “Durch Absonderung zur Gemeinschaft [Through Separation to Community],” it is out of a profound sense of responsibility to others that anarchists seek “to leave these people,” to keep “our own company and our own lives”; “Away from the state, as far as we can get! Away from goods and commerce! Away from the philistines! Let us … form a small community in joy and activity.”52 Landauer’s conception of anarchism as exodus, striving toward “community” precisely “through separation,” illuminates the purpose of anarchist resistance culture: to enable us, while remaining within the world of domination and hierarchy, to escape from it.
Something like Ehrlich‘s “transfer culture” or Landauer’s “community through separation” is carried by the Italian Autonomists’ concept of “exodus.” Exodus, a process of “engaged withdrawal” from authoritarian institutions, which is at the same time the “founding” of a new community, was partly inspired by observations of U.S. black nationalism, which used the image of the passage out of Egypt “to change circumstances without [anyone] shifting one millimetre in space.”53 Indeed, from the perspective of exodus, the question of whether the emancipated future is imminent or remote is beside the point:
The motivating force of the sticking together and the unity—the “being together”—of that group that was on its way (“in movement”) toward the Promised Land, toward the collective dimension of its own emancipation, was probably more the unidimensionality of the desert, its immobility and immutability, than any hopes for the approach of some eventual future goal.54
Anarchist resistance culture is a way of living in transit through this desert. The resistance culture of the anti-apartheid movement had not only a specific target but a destino, a Promised Land, an end. Anarchist resistance is not mainly defined by its end; it is a middle, a means.
It is a tunnel.
I have constructed this book as an exploration of anarchist cultural resistance work in just some of the genres or media that have been historically most important to the movement. It may be that in doing so, I am paying too much respect to an artifactual conception of “culture.” The goal cannot be to secure equal bragging rights (Armand Gatti is the anarchist Brecht!55); in any case, such boasting would be ill considered, as competing for symbolic capital in the cultural marketplace is not in keeping with the anarchist spirit. Instead, I hope to make these artifacts speak of the ways of being in the world that they have helped to construct.
The organizing device of genre or medium allows us (dangerously) extravagant scope for comparison. The best studies of anarchist cultural resistance have been fairly narrowly bounded by place and period, reflecting the assumption that these will be the dimensions most salient to interpretation.56 While there is much to be said for this kind of attention to the local conditions and contexts within and against which acts of cultural production take on meaning, it may also simply reflect the biases built into academic publishing, which increasingly pays lip service to “interdisciplinary” research without ever ceasing to impose disciplinary categories. As a massively transnational, migratory phenomenon, the anarchist movement fails to comply with the compartmentalization of knowledge; it is at least worth asking whether, as anarchist ideas traveled from France to China, from China to Korea, from Russia to Brazil, from Germany to the U.S., and so on, anything did remain constant. Given the variety of historical and cultural conditions in which anarchists made their homes, whatever elements of anarchist culture might have been carried from city to city or from generation to generation, anarchist works of culture might have tended to take on the colors of each time and place. Given the fundamental situation in which anarchists of every place and time have found themselves—the empire of State and Capital, the universal prison-house, the changeless desert—anarchist works of culture might have converged substantially in their evolution.
Here, then, are the primary questions animating this book: How has anarchist resistance, global both in its aspirations and