Its basic structure would begin from the principle that coordination should arise from below, from people where they actually live and work, rather than being imposed from a distant centre. Local assemblies, workplace councils, tenant unions, cooperatives, care networks, and voluntary associations would form the living substance of society. These would not be symbolic forums with no real power, they would be the places where decisions are made, resources are allocated, disputes are addressed, and priorities are debated.

Wider levels of coordination, regional, interregional, even international, would still exist, but they would exist as federations of these bodies, built through delegation rather than rule. Delegates would carry specific mandates, remain recallable, and function as messengers and coordinators rather than a political class.

Technically, such a society would depend on a much more advanced and explicit infrastructure of democratic coordination than anything most twentieth century anarchist movements had access to. That is one of the central facts many people still fail to grasp. Modern communications systems, distributed databases, cryptographic verification, open accounting tools, and transparent public ledgers make it far more plausible to coordinate complex societies without a state bureaucracy standing above everyone.

An anarchist federation would not mean every person voting on every trivial matter every day, that would be absurd. It would mean clear layers of decision making, with most matters handled locally, and only genuinely large scale questions routed upward through federated structures. Energy use, transport, supply chains, ecological planning, healthcare capacity, production targets, and emergency coordination could all be made publicly legible through shared systems. Power, or the exercise of power would be made more visible, not less. The point is not to abolish organisation, it is to abolish unaccountable organisation.

Socially, daily life would likely feel more participatory, more reciprocal, and probably more demanding in some ways than people raised under passive liberal citizenship are used to. People would be expected to take some meaningful part in communal life, not as unpaid martyrdom, but because society would no longer be arranged around spectatorship and delegation upward. Much of what is now handled through market coercion or bureaucratic compulsion would instead be handled through norms of mutual obligation, negotiated responsibility, and communal expectation. Care work would be recognised as socially central rather than treated as invisible background labour. Education would be less about producing obedient labour for employers, and more about cultivating technically capable, socially conscious, self governing human beings. The average person would need a higher level of civic literacy, because freedom at scale requires competence, not just sentiment.

Economically, an anarchist federation society would most likely be plural in form but unified by certain boundaries. Natural resources, infrastructure, and the basic conditions of collective life would need to be held in common or under strong communal stewardship, because allowing these to become private power centres would simply recreate class rule in another costume. Beyond that, production could be organised through cooperatives, municipal associations, trade federations, and distributed manufacturing networks. The decisive question would be whether productive activity remains socially accountable. In practical terms that means workplaces governed by workers and communities, transparent procurement, open standards, interoperable systems, and planning tools that allow coordination without requiring a central state ministry dictating everything from above. In a technologically advanced society this could become far more dynamic than old arguments between market and plan usually allow. The real issue is whether coordination serves collective need, or whether it serves accumulation and domination.

Culturally, an anarchist federation would have to produce a different type of person from the one capitalism and the state currently produce. Today people are trained into competitive isolation, political cynicism, and learned dependence on systems they do not control. A free federation would need a culture of confidence, seriousness, and mutual respect. That does not mean moral perfection, human beings would still be flawed, contradictory, ambitious, and difficult. What changes is the surrounding structure that shapes those traits. Prestige would ideally shift away from wealth, command, and spectacle, and toward contribution, skill, reliability, imagination, and public trust. Art, science, engineering, and philosophy would likely take on a more common and public role, because they would no longer be so tightly subordinated to state strategy or private profit. A society like this would need culture to do real work, it would need stories, rituals, education, and symbols that teach people how to live as free equals in a complex world.

The reason this vision matters is because too much of the left still speaks as though the horizon of politics is either reforming the administrative state or capturing it. That leaves the imagination trapped inside the architecture of domination. An anarchist federation offers a more direct answer, it says society can be highly organised without becoming authoritarian, technically sophisticated without becoming centralised, and socially coherent without requiring a ruling class.

The challenge is not whether such a society can be imagined, it already can. The challenge is building the institutions, habits, and technical systems that make it materially credible. That is where anarchism now has to become more concrete, less purely oppositional, and more capable of presenting itself as a real civilisational design.

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Written and illustrated by Ash Carr

The post What would look like an Anarchist federation society? appeared first on Void Network.

Gaza is only the start. The new world order is one where the weak are obliterated by the strong, the rule of law does not exist, genocide is an instrument of control and barbarism is triumphant.

Mar 15, 2026

The war on Iran and the obliteration of Gaza is the beginning. Welcome to the new world order. The age of technologically-advanced barbarism. There are no rules for the strong, only for the weak. Oppose the strong, refuse to bow to its capricious demands and you are showered with missiles and bombs.

Hospitals, elementary schools, universities and apartment complexes are reduced to rubble. Doctors, students, journalists, poets, writers, scientists, artists and political leaders — including the heads of negotiating teams — are murdered in the tens of thousands by missiles and killer drones.

Resources – as the Venezuelans know – are openly stolen. Food, water and medicine, as in Palestine, are weaponized.

Let them eat dirt.

International bodies such as the United Nations are pantomime, useless appendages of another age. The sanctity of individual rights, open borders and international law have vanished. The most depraved leaders of human history, those who reduced cities to ashes, herded captive populations to execution sites and littered lands they occupied with mass graves and corpses, have returned with a vengeance.

They spew the same hypermasculine tropes. They spew the same vile, racist cant. They spew the same Manichaean vision of good and evil, black and white. They spew the same infantile language of total dominance and unrestrained violence.

Killer clowns. Buffoons. Idiots. They have seized the levers of power to carry out their demented and cartoonish visions as they pillage the state for their own enrichment.

“After witnessing savage mass murder over several months, with the knowledge that it was conceived, executed and endorsed by people much like themselves, who presented it as a collective necessity, legitimate and even humane, millions now feel less at home in the world,” writes Pankaj Mishra in “The World After Gaza.” “The shock of this renewed exposure to a peculiarly modern evil – the evil done in the pre-modern era only by psychopathic individuals and unleashed in the last century by rulers and citizens of rich and supposedly civilized societies – cannot be overstated. Nor can the moral abyss we confront.”

The subjugated are property, commodities to exploit for profit or pleasure. The Epstein Files expose the sickness and heartlessness of the ruling class. Liberals. Conservatives. University presidents. Academics. Philanthropists. Wall Street titans. Celebrities. Democrats. Republicans.

They wallow in unbridled hedonism. They go to private schools and have private health care. They are cocooned in self-referential bubbles by sycophants, publicists, financial advisers, lawyers, servants, chauffeurs, self-help gurus, plastic surgeons and personal trainers. They reside in heavily guarded estates and vacation on private islands. They travel on private jets and gargantuan yachts. They exist in another reality, what the Wall Street Journal reporter Robert Frank dubs the world of “Richistan,” a world of private Xanadus where they hold Nero-like bacchanalias, make their perfidious deals, amass their billions and cast aside those they use, including children, as if they are refuse. No one in this magic circle is accountable. No sin too depraved. They are human parasites. They disembowel the state for personal profit. They terrorize the “lesser breeds of the earth.” They shut down the last, anemic vestiges of our open society.

“There will be no curiosity, no enjoyment of the process of life,” as George Orwell writes in “1984.” “All competing pleasures will be destroyed. But always— do not forget this, Winston— always there will be the intoxication of power, constantly increasing and constantly growing subtler. Always, at every moment, there will be the thrill of victory, the sensation of trampling on an enemy who is helpless.
If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face— forever.”

The law, despite a few valiant efforts by a handful of judges — who will soon be purged — is an instrument of repression. The judiciary exists to stage show trials. I spent a lot of time in the London courts covering the Dickensian farce during the persecution of Julian Assange. A Lubyanka-on-the-Thames. Our courts are no better. Our Department of Justice is a vengeance machine.

Masked, armed goons flood the streets of the United States and murder civilians, including citizens. The ruling mandarins are spending billions to convert warehouses into detention centers and concentration camps. They insist they will only house the undocumented, the criminals, but our global ruling class lies like it breathes. In their eyes, we are vermin, either blindly and unquestionably obedient or criminals. There is nothing in between.

These concentration camps, where there is no due process and people are disappeared, are designed for us. And by us, I mean the citizens of this dead republic. Yet we watch, stupefied, disbelieving, passively waiting for our own enslavement.

It won’t be long.

The savagery in Iran, Lebanon and Gaza is the same savagery we face at home. Those carrying out the genocide, mass slaughter and unprovoked war on Iran are the same people dismantling our democratic institutions.

The social anthropologist Arjun Appadurai calls what is happening “a vast worldwide Malthusian correction” that is “geared to preparing the world for the winners of globalization, minus the inconvenient noise of its losers.”

Oh, the critics say, don’t be so bleak. Don’t be so negative. Where is the hope? Really, it’s not that bad.

If you believe this you are part of the problem, an unwitting cog in the machinery of our rapidly consolidating fascist state.

Reality will eventually implode these “hopeful” fantasies, but by then it will be too late.

True despair is not a result of accurately reading reality. True despair comes from surrendering, either through fantasy or apathy, to malignant power. True despair is powerlessness. And resistance, meaningful resistance, even if it is almost certainly doomed, is empowerment. It confers self-worth. It confers dignity. It confers agency. It is the only action that allows us to use the word hope.

The Iranians, Lebanese and Palestinians know there is no appeasing these monsters. The global elites believe nothing. They feel nothing. They cannot be trusted. They exhibit the core traits of all psychopaths — superficial charm, grandiosity and self-importance, a need for constant stimulation, a penchant for lying, deception, manipulation and the inability to feel remorse or guilt. They disdain as weakness the virtues of empathy, honesty, compassion and self-sacrifice. They live by the creed of Me. Me. Me.

“The fact that millions of people share the same vices does not make these vices virtues, the fact that they share so many errors does not make the errors to be truths, and the fact that millions of people share the same forms of mental pathology does not make these people sane,” Eric Fromm writes in “The Sane Society.”

We have witnessed evil for nearly three years in Gaza. We watch it now in Lebanon and Iran. We see this evil excused or masked by political leaders and the media.

The New York Times, in a page out of Orwell, sent an internal memo telling reporters and editors to eschew the terms “refugee camps, “occupied territory,” “ethnic cleansing” and, of course, “genocide” when writing about Gaza. Those who name and denounce this evil are smeared, blacklisted and purged from university campuses and the public sphere. They are arrested and deported. A deadening silence is descending upon us, the silence of all authoritarian states. Fail to do your duty, fail to cheerlead the war on Iran, and see your broadcasting license revoked, as the Chair of the F.C.C. Brendan Carr has proposed.

We have enemies. They are not in Palestine. They are not in Lebanon. They are not in Iran. They are here. Among us. They dictate our lives. They are traitors to our ideals. They are traitors to our country. They envision a world of slaves and masters. Gaza is only the start. There are no internal mechanisms for reform. We can obstruct or surrender.

Those are the only choices left.

SOURCE: https://chrishedges.substack.com/p/the-world-according-to-gaza

The post The World According to Gaza- Chris Hedges appeared first on Void Network.

The economic system is incompatible with the survival of life on Earth. It is time to design a new one.

By George Monbiot / theguardian.com

For most of my adult life I’ve railed against “corporate capitalism”, “consumer capitalism” and “crony capitalism”. It took me a long time to see that the problem is not the adjective but the noun.

While some people have rejected capitalism gladly and swiftly, I’ve done so slowly and reluctantly.

Part of the reason was that I could see no clear alternative: unlike some anti-capitalists, I have never been an enthusiast for state communism.

I was also inhibited by its religious status. To say “capitalism is failing” in the 21st century is like saying “God is dead” in the 19th: it is secular blasphemy. It requires a degree of self-confidence I did not possess.

But as I’ve grown older, I’ve come to recognise two things. First, that it is the system, rather than any variant of the system, that drives us inexorably towards disaster. Second, that you do not have to produce a definitive alternative to say that capitalism is failing. The statement stands in its own right. But it also demands another, and different, effort to develop a new system.

Capitalism’s failures arise from two of its defining elements. The first is perpetual growth. Economic growth is the aggregate effect of the quest to accumulate capital and extract profit. Capitalism collapses without growth, yet perpetual growth on a finite planet leads inexorably to environmental calamity.

Those who defend capitalism argue that, as consumption switches from goods to services, economic growth can be decoupled from the use of material resources. Last week a paper in the journal New Political Economy, by Jason Hickel and Giorgos Kallis, examined this premise. They found that while some relative decoupling took place in the 20th century (material resource consumption grew, but not as quickly as economic growth), in the 21st century there has been a recoupling: rising resource consumption has so far matched or exceeded the rate of economic growth. The absolute decoupling needed to avert environmental catastrophe (a reduction in material resource use) has never been achieved, and appears impossible while economic growth continues. Green growth is an illusion.

A system based on perpetual growth cannot function without peripheries and externalities. There must always be an extraction zone – from which materials are taken without full payment – and a disposal zone, where costs are dumped in the form of waste and pollution. As the scale of economic activity increases until capitalism affects everything, from the atmosphere to the deep ocean floor, the entire planet becomes a sacrifice zone: we all inhabit the periphery of the profit-making machine.

This drives us towards cataclysm on such a scale that most people have no means of imagining it. The threatened collapse of our life-support systems is bigger by far than war, famine, pestilence or economic crisis, though it is likely to incorporate all four. Societies can recover from these apocalyptic events, but not from the loss of soil, an abundant biosphere and a habitable climate.

The second defining element is the bizarre assumption that a person is entitled to as great a share of the world’s natural wealth as their money can buy. This seizure of common goods causes three further dislocations. First, the scramble for exclusive control of non-reproducible assets, which implies either violence or legislative truncations of other people’s rights. Second, the immiseration of other people by an economy based on looting across both space and time. Third, the translation of economic power into political power, as control over essential resources leads to control over the social relations that surround them.

In the New York Times on Sunday, the Nobel economist Joseph Stiglitz sought to distinguish between good capitalism, which he called “wealth creation”, and bad capitalism, which he called “wealth grabbing” (extracting rent). I understand his distinction. But from the environmental point of view, wealth creation is wealth grabbing. Economic growth, intrinsically linked to the increasing use of material resources, means seizing natural wealth from both living systems and future generations.

To point to such problems is to invite a barrage of accusations, many of which are based on this premise: capitalism has rescued hundreds of millions of people from poverty – now you want to impoverish them again. It is true that capitalism, and the economic growth it drives, has radically improved the prosperity of vast numbers of people, while simultaneously destroying the prosperity of many others: those whose land, labour and resources were seized to fuel growth elsewhere. Much of the wealth of the rich nations was – and is – built on slavery and colonial expropriation.

Like coal, capitalism has brought many benefits. But, like coal, it now causes more harm than good. Just as we have found means of generating useful energy that are better and less damaging than coal, so we need to find means of generating human wellbeing that are better and less damaging than capitalism.

There is no going back: the alternative to capitalism is neither feudalism nor state communism.

Soviet communism had more in common with capitalism than the advocates of either system would care to admit.

Both systems are (or were) obsessed with generating economic growth. Both are willing to inflict astonishing levels of harm in pursuit of this and other ends. Both promised a future in which we would need to work for only a few hours a week, but instead demand endless, brutal labour. Both are dehumanising. Both are absolutist, insisting that theirs and theirs alone is the one true God.

So what does a better system look like? I don’t have a complete answer, and I don’t believe any one person does. But I think I see a rough framework emerging.

Part of it is provided by the ecological civilisation proposed by Jeremy Lent, one of the greatest thinkers of our age. Other elements come from Kate Raworth’s doughnut economics and the environmental thinking of Naomi Klein, Amitav Ghosh, Angaangaq Angakkorsuaq, Raj Patel and Bill McKibben.

Part of the answer lies in the notion of “private sufficiency, public luxury”. Another part arises from the creation of a new conception of justice based on this simple principle: every generation, everywhere, shall have an equal right to the enjoyment of natural wealth.

I believe our task is to identify the best proposals from many different thinkers and shape them into a coherent alternative. Because no economic system is only an economic system but intrudes into every aspect of our lives, we need many minds from various disciplines – economic, environmental, political, cultural, social and logistical – working collaboratively to create a better way of organising ourselves that meets our needs without destroying our home.

Our choice comes down to this. Do we stop life to allow capitalism to continue, or stop capitalism to allow life to continue?

George Monbiot is a Guardian columnist

The post Dare to Declare Capitalism Dead – Before It Takes Us All Down With It appeared first on Void Network.

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Generation Z was born into the digital age, and the internet has been part of their lives since day one. For this reason, Gen Z is also called the “digital Generation.” Although they have certain widely accepted general characteristics, attempting to describe them through rigid stereotypes can be misleading. Definitions that portray Gen Z solely as a group that only communicates digitally are deceptive. This generation resembles a volcanic mountain ready to erupt, with an unpredictability about when it will spring into action. That observation can be observed in the powerful actions they have already carried out around the world. They have toppled three regimes in Asia and one in both Europe and Africa. In more than 20 other countries, they have compelled governments to reform.

The superficial analyses of Gen Z produced by groups that benefit from the capitalist system—claiming that “Gen Z is individualistic,” “Gen Z is financially oriented,” that they are a “lost generation”—serve no purpose other than attempting to shape and control the new generation, just as has been done with every previous one. We must pay close attention to this. No system wants the incoming generation to disrupt its “tranquil” domination. To prevent this, it creates its own experts and academics who spread theories that discredit Gen Z, while waging special warfare through mindless Tik Tok videos, “realistic” video war games, hard drugs, and other means targeted specifically at young people to blunt their revolutionary edge.

The capitalist definitions of Gen Z reveal cynicism and fears, but many more people greet Gen Z with open arms. Decades of past struggles produced visionaries who welcome Gen Z’s energies and actions.

Characteristics and Shortcomings of Gen Z Actions

Perhaps the most important feature of Gen Z is its ability to organize extremely quickly through digital media and simultaneously to turn organization into action. Globalizing solidarity networks in a very short time, especially in many parts of Asia and the Middle East, they display fearless resistance against entrenched politicians. Unlike previous Gens, Gen Z has no single leader. They organize horizontally. Their leaderless structure makes them appear strategy-less, unplanned, and scattered, which limits their ability to achieve lasting results. Because they lack self-defense planning, they often face extreme violence. When the government changes or when the issues they protest are addressed, their dissent subsides. While a few individuals step up to exert political influence, Gen Z as a group has not generally offered alternative models for qualitative change. In Bangladesh and Nepal, a Nobel Prize winning economist and a former Chief Judge were accepted to lead interim governments. In the next part of this article, I consider the free territory in Rojava, Syria  as a genuine alternative to nation-states based upon capitalist partiarchy.

Gen Z has already proven its fearlessness by challenging governments despite enormous state violence. They have paid a high price: more than 2,000 insurgents have been killed and thousands more wounded. The most important task now standing before us is to create a livable alternative, to move from rebellion to revolution. Whenever insurgencies compel governments to retreat or reform, similar regimes inevitably return. Over time they develop corrupt and  anti-democratic practices. For Gen Z’s struggles to truly transcend capitalist modernity, it is crucial to have an alternative model of life. Anarchism, feminism, national liberation movements, Marxism, Leninism, Maoism, and previous episodes of class struggles have created a tremendously important history of resistance. Yet Gen Z — one of the major forces of resistance in the new century — needs a 21st Century orientation to make their gains permanent and sustainable. One-dimensional or ideologically “correct” perspectives fragment the movement rather than creating the necessary transformation of existing systems. Facing a multitude of problems, Gen Z needs a holistic system that can shed light on all problems and develop collective solutions.

It is vitally important that Gen Z develops a perspective that takes women’s liberation, class consciousness, grassroots democracy, and an ecological worldview as its foundations. Today, many left and socialist movements lack a strategic approach to women’s liberation. Without resolving patriarchal oppression, no radical solution is possible. Similarly, ecology either has no place or only a very limited place in the ideology of many organizations, even though the pollution and gradual destruction of nature is currently one of the world’s most critical problems.

Against capitalism’s effort to create an individualistic society in which people stay away from social issues and focus on “individual” problems, Gen Z can overcome incessant capitalist assaults by building its own communal culture. To do so requires a radical break from customary everyday life. If Gen Z truly wants a freer society, it must begin with itself. To do that, a radical rupture from the life offered by capitalist modernity is necessary. We must take a stand against the system’s materialist personalities and imposed gluttonous consumer habits, and we must overcome the values that treat women merely as commodities.

Gen Z’s Alternative in Rojava

Since 2012, diverse peoples from northern and eastern Syria have come together in Rojava to build exactly the kind of society we need. Although it began as a Kurdish majority region, today Rojava contains a mix of Muslim Kurds, Syrian Christians, Assyrian Christians, Armenian Christians, Yazidis, Turkmen, Muslim Chechens and even atheists. A total of around three million people live harmoniously within a political framework that strives to ensure everyone’s rights are protected, women have equal representation in all organizations, and ecology is a basic principle. 

An estimated 40 to 50 million Kurds in the world are divided by Syria, Iraq, Iran and Turkey. Although they lack a nation-state, Kurds have built a variety of political organizations in the four countries where they live. Creatively navigating an international constellation of forces seeking to control them, Kurds became the main ally of all forces who oppose the Islamic State (ISIS). In a region where despotic dictatorships and religious exclusivity reign, Kurds provide a refreshing alternative of diversity, tolerance and free association.

The Rojava Revolution has emerged as an alternative organizational model to nation-states. The Rojava experience is the concrete embodiment of “Democratic Confederalism” — the democratic, women-liberationist, and ecological paradigm developed by the leader of the Kurdish Workers’ Party (PKK), Abdullah Öcalan. This system embodies the paradigm of freedom in an alternative in every aspect of life. Youth, women, all religions, and all languages are free to organize in their own specific ways and live together freely. Although Öcalan and the PKK originally fought for a nation-state, today they have changed both tactics and that goal: they believe in creating liberated democratic confederations similar to the Zapatista caracoles in which people can live freely.

Nation-states are fundamentally militaristic, nationalist, sexist, and religious. Governments have made people dependent on the state in matters of security, administration, and basic needs such as water and food. Democratic confederalism is an alternative created to oppose dependency, and it is an alternative to the nation-state itself. The goal of this system is the liberation of economy, culture, politics, and every dimension of social life—and to develop necessary self-defense to protect hard-won freedoms. The basic organizational forms of confederalism are academies, cooperatives, assemblies, and communes.

Academies play a strategic role in the formation of the educational system. Cooperatives in which members share responsibilities and reap the products of their labor is another fundamental organizational tool to protect society from giant monopolies and establish enterprises owned communally. People have organized themselves into communes and assemblies in every city, every village, and every neighborhood to solve their own problems together in solidarity with one another.

Nation-states monopolize all means of defense in order to control society. That is why self-defense is one of the foundational elements of democratic confederalism. All civilian and political organizations are built from the grassroots. Over more than  a decade of repelling attacks by ISIS and other Islamists as well as Erdogan’s Turkish army and air force,  more than 11,000 Rojava communards have lost their lives. Many more Iraqi Kurds have also been killed by regimes there.

Internationalist revolutionary youth from many countries of the world (England, Spain, Italy, Greece, Germany, USA, and others) came to Rojava to embrace the Rojava revolution against the threat posed by ISIS. In 2015, the Internationalist Freedom Battalion was formed by Marxist-Leninist, Maoist, and anarchist fighters from outside Syria. Beginning on June 10, 2015, they arrived to support the People’s Protection Units (YPG) against the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria in the Rojava War. Inspired by the International Brigades of the Spanish Civil War, at least 300 international fighters were also killed in the fighting. Most of the militias fought under the umbrella of the YPG before forming into other groups such as the Internationalist Freedom Battalion. Foreigners also helped to create the Rojava Information Center (https://rojavainformationcenter.org).

So, what is the history of the Rojava Revolution?

The Rojava Revolution

Just when Gen Z was being born, popular uprisings that began in Tunisia at the end of 2010, spontaneously spread across the Middle East, and became known as the “Arab Spring,” which reached Syria on 15 March 2011. The greatest success of the uprising that turned into a bloody civil war in Syria was the Rojava Revolution. Syrian Kurds neither took the side of the Baath regime nor the gangs formed against it. Choosing the Third Way, the Kurds led the “Spring of the Peoples” with the understanding of a “democratic nation.” Ultimately, they formed the basis of today’s Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF).

To demonstrate their determination for revolution, Syrian Kurds established the Democratic Society Movement (TEV-DEM) and the People’s Council of Western Kurdistan (MGRK) to form their own political unity in the face of attacks from both the regime and the forces described as “opposition.” Originally launched in northern and eastern Syria, Friday marches were held across the country. Following these protests, basic services previously run by the Assad regime were taken over by popular assemblies. In Afrin, language courses in Kurdish, a banned language in Turkey and Syria, were opened. For the first time, Kurdish children enrolled in primary and preparatory schools and received education in their own language.

The People Seize Power

On July 18, 2012, a meeting in Damascus, the capital of Syria, was attended by the heads of all major regime institutions. A massive explosion occurred, killing most officials. A day later, regime forces were driven out of Kobanê, led by Kurdish youth and with the participation of the people. Following Kobanê, the people seized power in Afrin, Serêkaniyê, Dirbêsiyê, Amûdê, Dêrik, Girkê Legê, Tirbêspiyê, and Til Temîr. On the same day, the Kurds declared a people’s government in Kobanê, which they named a canton, under the slogan “Democratic Syria, Autonomous Rojava.” July 19 became the starting date of the revolution. The declaration in Kobanê was followed by the declaration of new cantons in Afrin and Qamishli. As fighting intensified, people first formed local defense units and engaged in self-defense activities in the streets. Later, the YPG and Women’s Protection Units (YPJ), were officially established, although their foundations were laid years earlier during the resistance against the Baath regime’s massacres.

The first step taken in 2012 in the liberated areas, cities, towns, and villages was the establishment of People’s Houses. Through meetings and training sessions, people fully grasped autonomous administration. Security emerged as a fundamental concern. On this basis, people began to establish a self-defense system after the first steps of forming small defense groups. Another important task was to improve relations between the region’s divided communities while also taking the first steps to strengthen women’s power and to provide services to all in need.

As People’s Houses stimulated grassroots actions, the shape of autonomous administration changed. People’s Houses evolved into broader communes. Thousands of communes were established in villages and neighborhoods. Under the umbrella of these communes, education, defense, health, economy, and social services were provided. Members received training to play active roles, and separate women’s and youth communes were also created. Communes soon transformed into broader organizational structures organized as assemblies. City, village, and neighborhood assemblies were formed, consisting of representatives from communes, political parties, and municipal service institutions. Neighborhood assemblies were merged into city assemblies, and similar steps were taken at district and town levels. In December 2013, the first conference of city, district, and town assemblies was held, and a co-chair system was adopted for assemblies and communes, according to which every assembly, commune, and institution would have one female and one male co-chair. This dealt a major blow to the male-dominated mindset that had ignored women for years. Young people have continually played a major role in expanding democracy in Rojava.

Joint struggles were waged to unite ethnic and religious groups in the region, and significant progress was made fighting the provocations of Nusra (an affiliate of Al-Qaeda). The ISIS attack on Kobanê in 2014 was defeated through the unity of all peoples, beliefs, and different ethnicities in Northern and Eastern Syria. Years of fighting galvanized military units and command structures. The creation of  joint administrations to establish a free and equal lives further strengthened the military forces under the umbrella of the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF). In Rojava, one observer noted “a novel synthesis, a militant vertical organization empowers a communal, horizontal politics.”[1]

After this revolutionary advance, education in peoples’ mother tongues was intensified. Approximately 100 schools were opened in the region, and approximately 1,000 teachers were trained. Significant research on regional culture was initiated. Cultural and artistic centers with music groups, folklore, theater, and children’s groups were established. Committees were established to meet the needs of the people and address social, legal, and economic issues. A “justice committee” was established as an alternative to the Syrian legal system. Furthermore, a “social justice department” was created within the Mesopotamian Academy of Social Sciences on April 4, 2013, to improve the legal system.

Women’s Organizations

Female combatants have been centrally important to the defense of Rojava. Active since the beginning of the revolution and organized under the name Yekîtiya Star,[2] they created women’s assemblies and women’s houses. Priority was given to women’s representation in people’s assemblies, and women’s science-education centers and academies were opened in many cities. Women took their places in all administrations under the co-chair system and played active roles in education, family, politics, economy, and public security through women’s institutions.

Due to embargoes imposed on the region, the population facing severe shortages of medicine, flour, fuel, and other daily needs. To organize aid coming from abroad, the Kurdish Red Crescent (Heyvâ Sor) was established to break the embargo, build a non-capitalist system, and solve daily problems. In 2013, the Economic Development Institution for North and East Syria was founded. Aiming to develop an economy based on the people, this institution gave priority to cooperatives, starting in Kobanê and Dêrik.

At the end of 2013, the autonomous administration system recognized Kurdish, Arabic, and Assyrian as official languages. Other linguistic constituencies were granted the right to learn their own languages. Women’s representation in institutions was set at a minimum of 40%, and the participation of all regional components built on three pillars: Legislative Assembly, Executive Council, and High Court. All this multi-ethnic diversity has provided challenges that demand compromises, such as reversing a ban on polygamy in Arab-majority regions. In the fight for Kobanê, the SDF agreed to accept the offer of US air cover.

Youth’s Ownership of the Rojava Revolution

The second Middle East Youth Conference was held in Kobanê on February 20, 2019. Organized under the slogan “Toward a colorful and democratic Middle East under the leadership of youth,” the conference hosted more than 300 delegates from the four parts of Kurdistan, as well as Syria, Iraq, Jordan, Lebanon, Palestine, Libya, Armenia, Egypt, Turkey, Tunisia, Yemen, North Africa, and Sudan. The economic, political, and social crises in the region were discussed within the framework of capitalist modernity. In this context, solutions to the deadlock facing the Middle East were debated from fresh, youthful perspectives. At the end of the conference, steps were taken toward establishing a coordination council among youth organizations and developing joint political actions.

Led especially by Generation Z, young people organized the First World Youth Conference in Paris, France, between November 3–5, 2023. The conference brought together 400 delegates representing 95 youth organizations from 49 countries worldwide. Alongside participants from many European countries, young people from the Philippines, Kyrgyzstan, Sudan, Kenya, Mali, the United States, Mexico, Peru, Chile, Argentina, Brazil, Colombia, and Ecuador met with youth from the four parts of Kurdistan. The discussions and exchanges during the conference were strongly endorsed the demand for freedom of imprisoned Kurdish leader Abdullah Öcalan. The problems faced by revolutionary youth around the world were central to the agenda, emphasizing the importance of struggling together against the fragmentation created by the system. During the conference, solidarity was declared with all oppressed peoples, particularly the Palestinian people and the Kurdistan freedom movement. It was also stated that a common struggle would be carried out to protect the gains of peoples in Rojava and in many parts of the world.

Within the Democratic Autonomous Administration of North and East Syria, young people work in a distinctively autonomous manner. There is no imposition or top-down direction on youth councils or youth institutions in any field. Youth organizations determine their own forms of organization and modes of action. Education, organizational activities, as well as cultural and sports programs for young people are coordinated directly by youth councils themselves. As the pioneering and driving force of the revolution, youth take an active role in post-war reconstruction efforts, organize aid campaigns for those affected by war, and carry out support and play activities for children. Within the framework of women’s liberation, young people organize activities for November 25, the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women, as well as marches, panels, and street actions on March 8, International Women’s Day. The struggle against patriarchal mentality stands at the center of youth work.

In the field of culture and arts, young people play an important role in preserving the cultures of peoples by organizing music and theater festivals that include all communities and cultures, as well as photography, cinema, and painting workshops. Youth also carry out significant activities on ecology by organizing meetings, actions, and events such as tree-planting campaigns and repairing damage caused to nature by war. Through the sports tournaments they organize, youth contribute to social solidarity and healthy living. In addition, by holding commemorative events on the anniversaries of massacres and attacks to honor those who lost their lives, youth take the lead in keeping social memory alive.

Ecology in Rojava 

Ecological work in Rojava faced significant obstacles in the implementation of many projects due to attacks from various jihadist groups and Turkey. Nevertheless, significant progress has been made in the ecological field. The first steps towards ecological production were taken by the village communes that began to form in 2012. In 2014, cooperatives were established to secure the food supply, and the first decisions were made to reduce the use of chemical fertilizers and pesticides.

The Ecology Committee was officially established in 2015, and local programs began to be developed. In 2016, a large-scale campaign aimed at planting hundreds of thousands of trees was launched. Starting in 2017, solar panel projects were developed to address power outages. Solar energy systems began to be installed at homes and cooperatives. In 2018, Jinwar, a women-run ecological village, was officially opened. This village is based on organic farming, natural building materials, solar energy, and collective living. In 2019, initiatives were launched to preserve local seeds and develop agricultural practices that reduce chemical use. Small-scale organic farming trials have begun. In 2020, campaigns against environmental pollution and waste management programs were launched. Local campaigns to reduce plastic use were also launched. The Keziyên Kesk (Green Braids) Initiative was established in September 2020 to combat the ongoing environmental destruction in North and East Syria and increase soil productivity. Its work aims to help the people of North and East Syria become more self-sufficient in agriculture, thereby strengthening their resilience to embargoes. In collaboration with the Ministry of Education in North and East Syria, it has ensured that every school has a teacher teaching social ecology. As part of the “Lungs of the Village” project, millions of saplings were planted, and teams visited villages to explain the ecological destruction and how it can be reversed. In 2021, following the region’s water crisis and the decline in the Euphrates River’s flow, an emergency ecological plan was developed. Turkey regularly disrupts the flow of the Euphrates River, posing a serious threat to the region. This impacts not only agricultural activities but also access to clean drinking water. In response, water conservation campaigns were conducted, alternative irrigation methods (drip irrigation and the use of recycled water) were promoted, and local water communes were established. Solar-powered irrigation systems were expanded, and organic agricultural production increased.

Approximately 500,000 hectares of land previously under the control of the Assad regime have been consolidated into public land. According to a report by the Public Land Administration dated December 20, 2023, approximately 80% of this land has been allocated to agricultural cooperatives, women’s institutions, families, forests/afforestation, parks, associations, and camps for internally displaced persons. Fifty per cent of the population’s vegetable needs are now met locally. Products are delivered directly to the public at fair prices through cooperatives. More than 140,000 fruit trees have been planted to increase fruit production. Production, processing, and distribution continue through cooperatives.

Rojava is now nearly self-sufficient olive oil production, along with wheat, flour, bulgur, pasta, and lentil processing facilities. The Economic and Agricultural Councils continue to work on sugar, sunflower, soybean, and cotton processing and textile production facilities. Significant progress has been made in dairy production through agricultural cooperatives; dairy processing facilities now produce cheese, yogurt, and butter. While Rojava fully meets its red meat needs, it has not yet achieved self-sufficiency in white meat. Ecological production principles continue to be implemented to secure the food supply for the people of North and East Syria.

Recognition of the Revolution

No UN member state has officially recognized Northern and Eastern Syria. However, in October 2021, the Catalan Parliament voted to officially recognize Northern and Eastern Syria. Catalonia thereby made history as the first parliament to recognize the Rojava Revolution. With this decision, Catalan MPs declared their friendship with the Kurdish people and their opposition to Turkey’s occupation policies.

While the Rojava Revolution inspires worldwide opponents of ethnocentrism, religious fundamentalism and global capitalism, some local, regional, and global powers are also hostile to the outbreak of freedom, particularly the Turkish government of Recep Tayyip Erdoğan. Turkey began attacking the free life of people whom they labelled “terrorists” both directly and through paramilitary proxies. With international support, Turkey continues its attacks unabated to this day. In recent years, it has been carrying out these attacks using armed drones.

Despite years of attacks by Turkey, its affiliated paramilitary forces, and ISIS, a significant ecological revolution led by Gen Z has been achieved in North and East Syria. In the face of ongoing threats and embargoes, the revolution is progressing step by step through communes. With its pillars of democracy, women, and ecology, the Rojava Revolution stands before us as an alternative that Gen Z can create elsewhere in the pursuit of freedom.

___

Murat Bakur is a journalist and writer from Northern Kurdistan. His first novel, “Open Blue Freedom,” won second prize in the 5th Deniz Fırat Story and Photography Competition. Several of his short stories have been published by various news agencies. He continues his journalistic work at Medya Haber TV.

[1] Matt Broomfield, Hope Without Hope: Rojava and Revolutionary Commitment (AK Press, 2025).

[2] Formed from the combination of the words “Star” (goddess) and “Yekîtiya” (unity), the name means “Union of All Goddesses” or “Union of Women.”

The post Rojava: A GEN Z Alternative to Capitalist Patriarchy appeared first on Void Network.

Wtitten By Emilia Salvanou (Hellenic Open University)

1. Introduction

In 2023–2024 mass protests erupted across Europe and North America not in the name of humanitarian neutrality, but in direct opposition to what thousands of demonstrators called a genocidal war waged by the Israeli state against Palestinians in Gaza.¹ The brutality of the images—hospitals bombed, families buried alive, bodies retrieved from rubble, and a relentlessly rising death toll—shattered long-standing taboos around how the Israeli–Palestinian conflict could be named, narrated, and historicized. At the same time, the charge of antisemitism re-emerged as a powerful instrument for disciplining this emergent discourse.² In the wake of Israel’s war on Gaza, accusations of antisemitism have been increasingly deployed to delegitimize and suppress opposition to Israeli state violence. While antisemitism is a real and ongoing threat that demands attention, the current moment reveals a strategic instrumentalization of the term that transforms it from a category of historical and ethical urgency into a tool of silencing and disarticulation. Beyond the immediate humanitarian catastrophe lies a deeper struggle: not just over competing narratives, but over the very politics of grief—over whose deaths are grievable, whose pain is legible, and whose history can be invoked in the present.³

Rather than seeking a diagnostic of antisemitism per se, I interrogate memory as a political form—both as a regime that disciplines public speech and as a site of contestation through which the ethics of grief may be reimagined. The essay asks what forms of memory and political responsibility are foreclosed when the accusation of antisemitism is deployed to silence critique of Israel’s war in Gaza. How did we arrive at a point where Jewish identity is conflated with state violence, and mourning Palestinian lives is cast as suspect—or even as hate speech? Can we imagine a reconfiguration of historical memory that does not pit the trauma of one people against the suffering of another?⁴

In the current situation we find ourselves not in front of an absence of memory, but rather in front of the formation of a certain kind of memory—what I propose to call a memory-shell: a hard, sealed structure that preserves traces of past suffering while rendering them politically intransigent and epistemically non-negotiable. Drawing on recent historical debates, memory studies, and social movement theory, this essay proposes to treat memory not as a container of facts, but as a shell—a political form that both preserves and protects, hardens and hollows, shaping what can be said, felt, and remembered in public space. Through this lens, I suggest that European discourse around antisemitism is not simply about historical truth or falsehood, but about managing moral authority in a time of colonial reckoning.

2. From “Never Again” to “Again and Again”: The Rhetorical Capture of Holocaust Memory

While Holocaust memory has served as a pillar of European post-war ethics, it has also, from the beginning, been marked by exclusions—chiefly, the exclusion of Europe’s own colonial crimes. Scholars such as Michael Rothberg and Enzo Traverso have argued that the promise “Never Again” has always been unstable. The transformation of Holocaust memory into a kind of civil religion of the West has often come at the expense of other histories of violence—particularly those that Europe itself perpetrated through colonial conquest, racial domination, and imperial war.⁵ As Peter Novick has argued, the emergence of Holocaust consciousness in the United States was not a continuous act of mourning, but a historically contingent process shaped by Cold War politics, American exceptionalism, and shifting geostrategic interests.⁶ In this sense, Holocaust memory became not only a site of moral instruction but also a symbolic resource—one increasingly detached from the material history of Jewish suffering and repurposed to frame Western identity as morally redemptive.⁷ The result has been what Levy and Sznaider call “cosmopolitan memory,” a moral lingua franca that can universalize particular trauma while eliding others.⁸ Building on such insights, Gil Z. Hochberg’s scholarship further illuminates how memory operates not only as a repository of past suffering but also as an active site of political contestation and embodied resistance in contexts of settler colonialism. Hochberg’s analysis foregrounds the lived experience of trauma and the ways in which Palestinian memory challenges dominant narratives that seek to contain or delegitimize their claims to justice.⁹

This tension is not new, but in recent years it has deepened. As the realities of Palestinian displacement, occupation, and death have become more visible—especially through digital media and transnational activism—new generations shaped by intersectional politics and postcolonial critique have begun to challenge the monopoly of Holocaust memory as the sole or supreme site of moral authority. Within this shifting field, Holocaust memory has in many official and public discourses been recast not as a warning against the dangers of state violence per se, but as a symbolic shield for a particular state—Israel—even when that state engages in what many describe as apartheid or colonial war.¹⁰

This rhetorical shift has deep implications. As Enzo Traverso has shown, the exceptionalization of the Holocaust risks producing a form of moral insulation: a past that is so singular it cannot illuminate present forms of domination.¹¹ This “de-historicized memory,” he argues, cuts the Holocaust off from other histories of political violence and thereby weakens its critical power. Similarly, Israeli philosopher Yehuda Elkana warned as early as 1988 that the obsessive institutionalization of Holocaust memory in Israel—and by extension in the West—risked turning a collective trauma into a permanent lens of victimhood, rendering others’ suffering invisible and undermining the process of building a peaceful future.¹²

The point is not to diminish the significance of the Holocaust or to relativize its horror. On the contrary: to preserve its ethical force, we must resist its rhetorical capture. When “Never Again” is invoked to shield acts of ethnic cleansing, occupation, or military terror from critique, it becomes a reversal of its own moral intention. As Rothberg argues in Multidirectional Memory, the memory of different traumas does not inherently compete; they become rivals only within political structures that impose a zero-sum logic. In the case of Gaza, this logic has become brutally evident: expressions of solidarity with Palestinians are framed as denials of Jewish suffering, while Jewish grief is selectively mobilized to legitimize violence against a stateless people.

This logic is not without precedent. Already in 1955, Aimé Césaire warned that European humanism had turned inward against itself. In Discourse on Colonialism, he argued that the crimes of fascism were not an aberration but the return of colonial violence to the metropole—what had been rehearsed abroad now enacted at home.¹³ Today, the colonial scaffolding of Holocaust memory in European discourse risks producing a similar effect: a historical rupture instrumentalized to disavow present forms of racialized domination, even as the language of anti-fascism is invoked to justify them.

In addition to the voices analyzed above, it is crucial to acknowledge Palestinian intellectuals such as Edward Said and Mahmoud Darwish, who have long emphasized the ethical imperative to remember trauma in ways that challenge dominant narratives and foster a politics of responsibility. Said’s reflections on exile and the role of the intellectual exemplify a memory that is at once disruptive and dialogical. In Representations of the Intellectual and elsewhere, he insists that the task of the intellectual is not to consolidate consensus but to “speak truth to power”—to inhabit a position of principled disobedience, even (or especially) when it entails marginality or estrangement. For Said, exile is not only a physical condition but an epistemological stance: to remember, from exile, is to contest the authorized versions of history and to reinsert the silenced, the excluded, and the ungrievable into the historical record. Memory here becomes a political force: it interrupts, unsettles, and demands reparation. It is not a duty to the past alone but a responsibility toward the future.¹⁴

Similarly, Mahmoud Darwish’s poetry and prose evoke the pain of loss and the disarticulation of homeland—but not as a static lament. Rather, his work affirms the necessity of bearing witness across boundaries of nation, confession, or language. In his hands, memory is both elegiac and insurgent: it recovers fragments of a shattered world not to restore them intact, but to expose the violence of their destruction and to imagine new forms of collective life. His verse performs the impossible simultaneity of love and rage, intimacy and defiance, absence and presence. As such, it marks a refusal to let historical trauma be domesticated by abstract humanism or geopolitical cynicism. Instead, it situates Palestinian grief within a broader, decolonial poetics of survival and historical reckoning. Darwish’s poetry resists the teleological loop of trauma that locks the subject into binary positions of either perpetrator or victim. As Ella Shohat observes, Darwish “provincializes” the Holocaust not by denying its magnitude, but by returning it to a historical and political terrain—a terrain marked by colonial displacements, Mediterranean crossings, and shared griefs. In this way, he breaks the singularity of Holocaust memory as the limit-case of suffering and repositions it within a relational field of loss.¹⁵

In State of Siege, written during the Israeli siege of Ramallah in 2002, Darwish writes:

“We do what prisoners do, // what the unemployed do: // we cultivate hope.”

Here, hope is not redemptive; it is neither messianic nor compensatory. It is a minor practice, a labor of dailiness that works against the suspended temporality of siege and trauma. As Ariella Azoulay and Gil Hochberg have argued, this kind of aesthetic labor—particularly in Palestinian poetics—reclaims futurity not as promise, but as unfinished inheritance: a way of inhabiting memory without enclosing it.¹⁶

Together, Said and Darwish articulate a form of memory that is unhomed yet generative, one that confronts power without mirroring its exclusions. Their interventions push us to imagine a politics of grief and recognition that is capacious enough to hold multiple histories of violence, without flattening their specificities or reinscribing new hierarchies of suffering.¹⁷ Against the backdrop of a Western memory regime that often instrumentalizes the Holocaust as a civil religion while obscuring the colonial and imperial violences in which Europe remains complicit, their work insists on the right to narrate and the imperative to remember otherwise. 

Alongside these perspectives, diasporic Jewish activist groups such as Jewish Voice for Peace (JVP), IfNotNow, and the former Not In Our Name offer a critical intervention into the politics of Holocaust memory. Refusing the instrumentalization of Jewish suffering to justify the oppression of others, they reclaim a Jewish ethical tradition rooted in justice, solidarity, and anti-colonial resistance.¹⁸ Their actions and writings challenge both the ethno-nationalist appropriation of the Shoah and the silencing of Palestinian grief, asserting instead a memory that is relational and emancipatory. By organizing protests, issuing public statements, and engaging in civil disobedience—often at great personal and communal cost—these groups articulate a diasporic Jewishness not defined by state power or military force but by historical conscience and political refusal. In their hands, Holocaust memory becomes not a license for exceptionalism but a moral and historical imperative to stand against apartheid, occupation, and genocide in all their forms. Recent interventions—such as the mass protest at the U.S. Capitol on October 18, 2023,¹⁹ and the disruption of Grand Central Terminal in New York on October 27, 2023,²⁰ demonstrate how these activists seek to reclaim Jewish memory as a tool of decolonial solidarity. This refusal to be confined within the dominant “memory-shell” enables a different temporality and ethics: one in which Jewish and Palestinian histories of dispossession need not be mutually exclusive, but can become the basis for shared mourning and collective responsibility. Their activism thus disrupts hegemonic memory regimes and gestures toward a horizon of justice where grief is unbounded by ethnic, national, or religious divisions. The interventions examined above—Palestinian, diasporic Jewish, and decolonial—challenge this closure and reopen the possibility of a memory otherwise: one that is committed to justice, multiplicity, and shared vulnerability.²¹

3. Memory-Shells and the Floating Signifier: A Theoretical Framing

In this sense, the appropriation of Holocaust memory as a hegemonic moral grammar—mobilized to justify ongoing colonial violence while silencing other histories of grief—illustrates how memory regimes operate through exclusion as much as through commemoration. Rather than serving as a space of ethical confrontation, Holocaust memory increasingly functions as a memory shell. In what follows, I propose the concept of the memory-shell as a heuristic device to understand the transformation of memory from a site of historical and affective disturbance into a hardened vessel of moral authority. The memory shell should be understood as a political form that preserves the outer layer of historical trauma while hollowing out its disruptive, universalist potential. The notion refers to a dynamic formation in which memory does not function as a straightforward recollection of the past but as a flexible container for resemanticization. It is neither true nor false; rather, it is contingent — open to reactivation, ideological reframing, and symbolic contestation depending on the political conjuncture and the struggle for moral authority. As such, memory is not merely selective; it is actively negotiated and often antagonistic. A memory-shell preserves the symbolic imprint of past trauma while increasingly detaching it from the contexts that made it politically and ethically disruptive. In this sense, memory-shells resemble sealed containers: they protect, encapsulate, and abstract memory from lived histories and struggles, thus regulating what can be said, grieved, or imagined in public discourse.

The concept draws on Ernesto Laclau’s notion of the floating signifier, a signifier emptied of fixed meaning that becomes hegemonically rearticulated within different political contexts.²² In other words, a term that condenses historical trauma into a point of moral certainty, while allowing it to be rearticulated across divergent political projects. Like the floating signifier, the memory-shell is not bound to one content but gains force precisely through its ambiguity and moral overdetermination. We may approach shell-memory as a nodal point emptied of fixed referent but capable of being invested with divergent political meanings. It can stand for “never again,” for trauma, for justice, or for exceptionalism—depending on who invokes it, and when. Like “democracy” or “freedom,” memory — and particularly Holocaust memory — can be appropriated across ideological divides, charged with contradictory emotions, and mobilized for competing claims to victimhood. In this sense, the memory of the Holocaust has become a site of articulation, simultaneously enabling resistance to injustice and functioning as a tool for discrediting criticism of Israeli state violence. This is not a symptom of forgetting. On the contrary – memories that turn into memory shells are usually those that are so securely embedded in historical culture and identity, that is impossible to bypass. Therefore, resignification and even contestation is rather a symptom of political appropriation: memory as a vessel for hegemonic realignment. Memory shells are, in this sense, not merely a mode of historical recall but a technique of governance, echoing Michel Foucault’s insight that regimes of truth function through what is rendered sayable, thinkable, and grievable.²³ Memory here becomes a terrain of political struggle: a contested medium through which hierarchies are encoded, disrupted, or suppressed. 

Yet the memory-shell does not merely float; it shields. It becomes an ethical armor that protects hegemonic narratives while repelling interpretations that might link past and present forms of violence. Shell-memory thus reveals memory as a terrain of contestation rather than a stable referent. This is particularly evident in the case of Holocaust memory in the post-1945 West, which has undergone a transformation from traumatic rupture to moral consensus. The memory of Auschwitz, once disruptive and historically embedded, now circulates as a normative grammar of recognition and punishment, deployed to name and shame certain actors while exonerating others. Such deployments, while not new, have intensified in the wake of global protest against the genocide in Gaza. In the case of Gaza, the struggle for remembrance is not simply historiographical or humanitarian; it is a battle over who can legitimately invoke trauma, define victimhood, and occupy the moral register of History. The very act of linking Gaza to Auschwitz becomes unspeakable—not because of historical inaccuracy, but because the memory shell has become performative, disciplinary, and sacrosanct. What is at stake, then, is not the truth-value of memory, but its instrumental function: to govern grief, regulate dissent, and secure geopolitical alliances.

As Donatella della Porta argues, memory is never politically neutral. In moments of political contestation, memories of past violence can become central to the framing strategies of both protest movements and hegemonic actors. Memory does not merely recall the past; it reconfigures the present by legitimizing certain claims and delegitimizing others. In her work on social movements and contentious politics, she highlights how symbolic references to historical traumas—whether of war, fascism, or genocide—are mobilized to shape collective identities and to justify political action or repression.²⁴ The memory shell, then, is not only a metaphor for historical closure, but also a political instrument—a site where affect, legitimacy, and power intersect. 

In the current conjuncture, the sacralization of Holocaust memory often serves not to expand the democratic horizon of solidarity, but to shield specific state actors from critique, transforming memory into a disciplinary tool that regulates the limits of political imagination. Affectively, memory shells operate as technologies of emotional capture. They command reverence and impose silence; they channel sorrow into specific, allowable directions. This memory shell enshrines the Holocaust. But it does so by detaching it from the plural and contested terrains of historical remembrance and by repositioning it within a moral grammar that demands loyalty, not inquiry. Here, memory becomes a surface rather than a depth—a performative invocation rather than a space for reflexive engagement. As such, the memory of the Holocaust is reified: placed behind a transparent barrier through which it can be seen, reverently cited, but not recontextualized. In this context, “antisemitism” is increasingly unmoored from the specific genealogies of hate, exclusion, and extermination that gave rise to it, and becomes instead a floating moral charge: one that can be affixed to anti-Zionist Jews, Palestinian activists, human rights NGOs, and even ceasefire protesters.

The functionalization of antisemitism as a mode of accusation has a long genealogy, but it has intensified in the wake of 7 October 2023. In the months that followed, institutions across Europe and North America adopted punitive measures against individuals and groups opposing Israel’s assault on Gaza. Humanitarian workers were suspended or investigated for public expressions of solidarity with Palestinians. University presidents in the United States were summoned to Congressional hearings and forced to resign under the pressure of donor campaigns and orchestrated outrage. Protesters in cities from Berlin to Paris to London faced bans, arrests, or police violence, justified by the claim that any public dissent against the war amounted to an incitement to hatred or a threat to Jewish safety.²⁵ In such cases, the invocation of antisemitism operates not as a means of protecting Jewish communities, but as a mechanism of anticipatory repression—a form of delegitimization of actors, practices, and narratives before they can generate political traction.²⁶ Memory, in this schema, becomes the moral substrate for a new regime of securitized speech. One must not only avoid antisemitism; one must not appear to contest the state’s definition of what antisemitism is. 

4. Definitions and the Politics of Memory

This process is most evident in the strategic adoption and dissemination of the IHRA (International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance) working definition of antisemitism, which blurs the line between anti-Jewish hatred and criticism of the Israeli state.²⁷ By contrast, the Jerusalem Declaration on Antisemitism, authored by a group of Jewish scholars and public intellectuals, insists on the distinction between antisemitism as a form of racialized hatred and legitimate critique of Zionism or Israeli policies.²⁸ Yet in the institutional field, it is the IHRA definition that has prevailed—endorsed by governments, universities, and cultural organizations across the West, often as a condition for funding or partnership. Here, the memory-shell operates as a shield and a filter: it shields a particular narrative of Jewish victimhood from scrutiny and filters out alternative forms of remembrance—especially those that foreground Palestinian dispossession as part of the same historical arc. The memory-shell does not deny the Holocaust; it monopolizes its meaning. It demands that Holocaust memory serve as the ground for identification with Israeli state violence and casts any deviation from this moral script as a betrayal of Jewish suffering itself. As Sara Ahmed has argued, emotions are not private states but forms of contact and orientation: they stick to certain bodies and histories more than others. The memory shell ensures that grief over Jewish loss remains politically permissible, even compulsory, while grief over Palestinian death becomes suspect, antisemitic, or uncivil. This is not a failure of memory, but a political use of memory as moral governance. 

This logic of exclusive mourning produces a condition I describe as a memory impasse: a blockage in the field of public memory, where the imperative to remember is transformed into a prohibition on historical analogies. One cannot remember the Nakba alongside the Shoah. One cannot recall Gaza’s destruction in the same breath as Auschwitz. One cannot draw the analogies between antisemitism of the past and islamophobia of the present. The charge of antisemitism thus becomes not only a political weapon, but also an epistemic veto: it forbids certain associations, disqualifies certain comparisons, and discredits alternative genealogies of violence and resistance.²⁹ What is at stake here is not only the distortion of a term, but the foreclosure of a political horizon. The memory shell is not simply an inert object; it is a technology of governance. It shapes what can be said, who can speak, and which memories are allowed to co-exist in public discourse. It organizes affect, affiliation, and recognition. It institutes a hierarchy of grief—where some lives are legible as victims and others are not.³⁰ Thus, the memory-shell functions not merely as rhetorical armor, but as a form of mnemonic power—shaping not only discourse but the affective contours of grief itself.³¹

5. Toward a Decolonized Memory

The current regime of Holocaust memory, while deeply entrenched in Western political and cultural institutions, remains profoundly unstable. As with all hegemonic formations, it is continually contested from within and without, by diverse actors including Jewish and Palestinian intellectuals, activists, artists, and survivors. These contestations do not advocate for the rejection of Holocaust memory itself, but rather call for its decolonization—a reconfiguration that acknowledges Jewish historical suffering while simultaneously opening space for solidarities that refuse to erase or marginalize other histories of violence and dispossession. In the sense Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o articulated, decolonization entails not simply political realignment but a radical transformation of the epistemic and representational order—a refusal to let dominant narratives foreclose the complexity of human suffering.³²

Decolonizing memory means disrupting the monolithic narratives that function as what I have termed the “memory-shell”—a protective and restrictive framework that preserves a singular understanding of trauma, while foreclosing alternative or conflicting memories. This memory-shell often operates to shield a particular political agenda, conflating Jewish victimhood with uncritical support for the Israeli state, and thus excluding Palestinian experiences of displacement and ongoing violence from the collective mnemonic landscape.

In this context, we must imagine forms of memory that are porous, dissonant, and dialogical—memories that resist closure and instead keep the past open as a contested site of ethical struggle and political connection. Such memories defy attempts at monopolization or instrumentalization and refuse to allow trauma to become the exclusive property of any state or political entity.³³ A radical, decolonial ethics of memory must not only open to the possibility of plural and conflictual histories; it must refuse the confiscation of mourning, the closure of the past, and the foreclosure of the present. This gesture resonates with Ariella Azoulay’s call to treat the archive not as a repository of state-sanctioned facts, but as a site of violence, exclusion, and imperial governance. In her account, the logic of imperialism does not only destroy lives and lands—it destroys the very conditions of co-seeing and co-witnessing. Against this regime, Azoulay proposes a radical civil contract of photography and memory, one that decenters the sovereign gaze and instead reclaims the right to narrate, to mourn, and to remember without prior authorization. In this sense, a decolonial ethics of memory requires not only a critique of mnemonic violence but an insurgent stance toward the monopolization of memory, archival closure, and historical legitimization. This vision draws on decolonial thought, which insists on the necessity of unsettling hegemonic narratives and restoring multiplicity and relationality in historical consciousness.³⁴

To decolonize memory is not to deny or diminish the Holocaust’s significance but to reclaim its ethical force—its capacity to unsettle settled narratives, to challenge complicity, and to demand ongoing responsibility and justice. Memory might as well function as a rupture: a deliberate break in the circuits of power that govern public discourse, opening space for solidarity across difference and for political horizons beyond exclusion and erasure.³⁵ Such a reframing also aligns with Edward Said’s call for the intellectual to embrace a memory that resists closure and demands critical engagement beyond nationalist or sectarian frameworks.³⁶ Similarly, Mahmoud Darwish’s poetic work exemplifies the necessity of bearing witness to multiple, intersecting histories of loss and displacement. In this way, decolonized memory becomes a transformative practice: one that reconfigures affect, recognition, and belonging in ways that resist closure and demand accountability.

6. Mourning, Solidarity, and the Ethical Risk of Historical Comparison

In the face of institutional repression and widespread political censorship, recent mass mobilizations across Europe and beyond have articulated new forms of political mourning. Led by coalitions of Palestinians, Jews, Muslims, Black and brown communities, and younger generations of activists, these movements reject the binary logic of competing victimhoods and insist instead on entangled solidarities: a right to remember without erasure, and to grieve without state sanction.³⁷ This emerging counter-memory does not signify an erosion of Holocaust remembrance but rather a radical refusal to prioritize past trauma over present atrocity. To affirm that Palestinian life matters, to name apartheid or to mourn children killed in their beds is not antisemitic. What becomes antisemitic, however, is the conflation of all Jews with the actions of a state, instrumentalizing Jewish identity to shield state violence from accountability. This moment demands a reimagined Jewish voice—one that breaks with ethno-nationalist paradigms and reclaims diasporic, anti-colonial, and ethical traditions within Judaism.³⁸ Jewish scholars, artists, and activists have been among the most vocal critics of Israeli policies, not despite their Jewishness but precisely because of it.³⁹ To silence these voices under the guise of combating antisemitism risks erasing the very dissent crucial for a pluralistic political discourse.⁴⁰

In this context, mourning transcends affective expression to become a radical political act: a refusal to permit the state to monopolize death or history, and a form of remembering against the grain, across time, and through rupture. Where the memory-shell erects barriers around the past, preserving moral certainties, mourning fractures this enclosure, demanding that memory remain porous, responsive, and accountable. Far from being antithetical to politics, mourning becomes its very condition, transforming memory from weapon to threshold of justice.⁴¹

Yet mourning also opens the terrain of political risk, particularly the risk of historical comparison. The invocation of genocidal analogies in the context of Israel’s war on Gaza has sparked heated debate, with some perceiving such comparisons as a transgression against the singularity of the Holocaust and a moral affront to Jewish suffering. Others assert that naming the systematic targeting of civilian populations as genocide is not only justifiable but ethically necessary.⁴² The legal challenges brought before international bodies like the International Court of Justice have foregrounded the Genocide Convention as a critical framework for adjudicating contemporary crises.⁴³

Beyond juridical proceedings, the question remains epistemological and political: Are historical analogies inherently dangerous, or can they function as tools of ethical reckoning? Must the past be policed to safeguard singular traumas from appropriation, or can comparison open pathways for solidarity and critical reflection? Against the hegemonic logic of exceptionalism, comparison need not imply a flattening or erasure of difference; rather, it can serve as an ethical disruption that destabilizes hierarchies of suffering and exposes structural continuities of violence.⁴⁴ Thus, comparison can be a pedagogical and political act—not to equate atrocities but to reveal dangerous resonances that demand attention. To prohibit comparison is effectively to foreclose history as a contested and dynamic field. It treats memory as fixed and sacralized rather than as a site of ongoing negotiation and political struggle. For societies to confront contemporary crises without replicating past exclusions, they must permit historical analogies to circulate—not as incontestable truths but as critical provocations to be debated, contextualized, and when necessary, contested.⁴⁵ Criminalizing such discourse risks stifling political agency and ethical reflection.

In sum, the politics of memory today extends beyond what is remembered to encompass who is allowed to remember, under which conditions, and within what geopolitical and moral frameworks. It has turned into a truth regime. The concept of the memory shell exposes the instability and contestation inherent in memory as a field of signification and power. Recognizing this contingency does not imply relativism but calls for a responsible, situated, and politically engaged memory—one attuned to asymmetries of violence and receptive to emerging forms of suffering and injustice. At a historical moment when the genocide in Gaza is silenced beneath rhetoric of security and historical exceptionalism, insisting on a heterogeneous, critical, and emancipatory memory becomes not only an act of solidarity but one of historical justice.

This emergent politics of mourning and solidarity not only challenges dominant narratives of victimhood but also exposes the underlying structures of power that govern memory itself. The contemporary politics of memory thus encompasses not only the content of remembrance but also the power to define who may remember, under which terms, and within what geopolitical and moral frameworks. The recent genocidal violence in Gaza exposes the limits of Holocaust memory as a politically neutral foundation of Western moral order; instead, it necessitates a critical interrogation of memory as a contested and politicized instrument of power. 

Memory is inherently dynamic and pluralistic, a contested field where divergent narratives and claims to historical truth are negotiated, among others taking into account the political stakes of representation. The concept of “memory shell” captures this ambivalence: memory functions as a protective yet constraining form that preserves the outer shell of trauma while frequently neutralizing its disruptive ethical potential. Acknowledging this complexity is essential for advancing a more responsible, situated, and politically engaged memory—one attentive to structural asymmetries of violence and receptive to emerging forms of injustice. 

Historical comparisons, particularly analogies invoking genocide, remain among the most divisive and fraught dimensions of this politics. While many see such comparisons as a threat to the Holocaust’s uniqueness and a moral affront to Jewish suffering,⁴⁶ others argue that naming contemporary atrocities—such as the systematic violence against Palestinians—as genocide is both justified and ethically imperative.⁴⁷ These debates extend beyond public discourse into legal arenas, with international tribunals and courts grappling with the application of the Genocide Convention.⁴⁸ Yet the core question is epistemological and political: are comparisons inherently reductive and dangerous, or can they function as critical tools for ethical disruption and pedagogical engagement?⁴⁹

The prohibition of comparison risks freezing history into a sacralized and immutable domain, disconnected from present struggles. Conversely, ethical comparison can destabilize hierarchies of suffering, reveal the structural continuities of violence, and foster solidarities across social and political divides. As Enzo Traverso and Dirk Moses, among others, compellingly argue, the Holocaust’s significance lies not in its unique exceptionality but in its illumination of modernity’s violent rationalities.⁵⁰ In this frame, comparison serves not to equate atrocities but to provoke reflection, political responsibility, and a critical reconsideration of power.

This theoretical framework resonates with the emergence of counter-memories articulated by diverse coalitions who reject binary victimhood and the monopolization of suffering. Their political mourning demands the right to remember without erasure and to grieve without state sanction, challenging the instrumentalization of identity to shield violence. Mourning thus becomes a radical political act that ruptures the “memory shell,” opening memory to ethical porosity, responsiveness, and justice. In a moment when the genocide in Gaza is obscured by discourses of security and exceptionalism, advocating for a heterogeneous, critical, and emancipatory memory constitutes both an act of solidarity and a demand for historical justice.

Author Bio:

Emilia Salvanou is a historian working at the intersection of social and cultural history, with particular attention to migration, refugee movements, and historical culture. She currently teaches public history at the Hellenic Open University. Her research explores how cultural memory, historiography, and public debates about the past shape historical consciousness in the present. Email: emilia.salvanou@gmail.com

Published on July 17, 2025. 

SOURCE: https://www.europenowjournal.org/2025/07/15/haunted-pasts-and-the-politics-of-grief-memory-shells-and-the-struggle-for-ethical-grief-after-gaza/

Footnotes:

1. The term ‘genocidal’ is used here not as a legal determination but as a political charge articulated by numerous civil society organizations, scholars, and activists in reference to the scale, intent, and continuity of the assault on Gaza. See UN Special Rapporteur Francesca Albanese, ‘Anatomy of a Genocide’ (2024) https://www.un.org/unispal/document/anatomy-of-a-genocide-report-of-the-special-rapporteur-on-the-situation-of-human-rights-in-the-palestinian-territory-occupied-since-1967-to-human-rights-council-advance-unedited-version-a-hrc-55/. ︎
2. For analyses of discursive constraints around the Israeli–Palestinian conflict in Western media and academia, see Saree Makdisi, Palestine Inside Out. An everyday occupation (New York and London: W.W. Norton  2008); Judith Butler, Parting Ways: Jewishness and the Critique of Zionism (New York: Columbia University Press 2012). ︎
3. On the entanglement of memory, mourning, and political legitimacy, see Paul Ricoeur, Memory, History, Forgetting (Chicago: Chicago University Press 2004); and Michael Rothberg, Multidirectional Memory (Stanford: Stanford University Press 2009). ︎
4. Antonis Liakos, “Βγάλτε τους νεκρούς από τη ζυγαριά” [Take the dead off the scale], Chronos 8, 2013 https://www.chronosmag.eu/index.php/ls-gl-p-g.html (last accessed 6.6.2025). ︎
5. Rothberg, Multidirectional Memory; Enzo Traverso,The End of Jewish Modernity (London: Pluto Press, 2016). ︎
6. Peter Novick, The Holocaust in American Life (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1999). ︎
7. Ibid., esp. pp. 13–14, 195–205. ︎
8. Daniel Levy and Natan Sznaider,The Holocaust and Memory in the Global Age (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2006), esp. ch. 2. ︎
9. Gil. Z. Hochberg, In Spite of Partition: Jews, Arabs, and the Limits of Separatist Imagination (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007). ︎
10. Butler, Parting Ways, esp. chs. 1 and 4. See also the analysis of performative memory in Judith Butler, Precarious Life (London: Verso, 2004).  ︎
11. Traverso,The End of Jewish Modernity, pp.186–190. ︎
12. Yehuda Elkana, “The Need to Forget,” Haaretz, March 1988; republished in Haaretz Magazine, 2004. For contextual discussion, see Amos Goldberg and Bashir Bashir,The Holocaust and the Nakba: A New Grammar of Trauma and History (New York: Columbia University Press, 2018). ︎
13. Aimé Césaire, Discourse on Colonialism, trans. Joan Pinkham (New York: Monthly Review Press, 2001), pp. 35-49. ︎
14. Edward Said, Representations of the Intellectual: The 1993 Reith Lectures (New York: Vintage Books, 1996). Also, Edward Said, Reflections on Exile and Other Essays (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000). ︎
15. Ella Shohat, “Rethinking Jews and Muslims,” Middle East Report 178 (September/October 1992). ︎
16. Hochberg, In Spite of Partition, pp 140-180; Ariella Azoulay, Potential History: Unlearning Imperialism. (London: Verso, 2019). ︎
17. Mahmoud Darwish, Memory for Forgetfulness. Translated by Ibrahim Muhawi (New York: Anchor Books, 2007). Also, Mahmoud Darwish, Unfortunately, It Was Paradise: Selected Poems (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003). ︎
18. See Jewish Voice for Peace’s “Our Principles” https://www.jewishvoiceforpeace.org/resource/our-vision/ and IfNotNow’s platform https://www.ifnotnowmovement.org/principles (last accessed 6.6.2025).  ︎
19. JVP led a sit-in at the U.S. Capitol calling for a ceasefire in Gaza. https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2023/10/19/jewish-activists-arrested-at-us-congress-sit-in-calling-for-gaza-ceasefire (last accessed 6.6.2025).  ︎
20. Thousands of Jews and allies gathered inside Grand Central Station, staging one of the largest acts of civil disobedience in NYC since 2020. https://www.nytimes.com/2023/10/27/world/middleeast/grand-central-protest-nyc-israel-hamas-gaza.html (last accessed 6.6.2025). ︎
21. Rothberg, Multidirectional Memory.  ︎
22. Ernesto Laclau, On Populist Reason (London: Verso, 2005), pp. 105–110.  ︎
23. Michel Foucault,The Archaeology of Knowledge, trans. A. M. Sheridan Smith (New York: Pantheon Books, 1972); Judith Butler, Frames of War: When Is Life Grievable? (London: Verso, 2009). ︎
24. Donatella della Porta, Social Movements, Political Violence and the State (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1995).  ︎
25. See reports on the post-October 2023 crackdown on Palestine solidarity activists across the US and Europe, e.g., Human Rights Watch, https://www.hrw.org/world-report/2024/country-chapters/israel-and-palestine (last accessed 6.6.2025). ︎
26. Donatella Della Porta, “Moral Panic and Repression: the contentious politics of anti-Semitism in Germany”,PArtecipazione e COnflitto * The Open Journal of Sociopolitical Studies PACO, Issue 17(2) 2024: 276-349.  ︎
27. The IHRA working definition of antisemitism was adopted in 2016 and has been widely institutionalized; see IHRA official website, https://www.holocaustremembrance.com (last accessed 6.6.2025). ︎
28. The Jerusalem Declaration on Antisemitism (2021), available at https://jerusalemdeclaration.org, is an alternative framework developed by leading scholars to safeguard free speech and clarify legitimate criticism (last accessed 6.6.2025).  ︎
29. Butler, Frames of War; Sara Ahmed, The Cultural Politics of Emotion (Edinburgh University Press 2004). David Theo Goldberg, The Racial State (Wiley-Blackwell 2002); Norman G. Finkelstein, The Holocaust Industry: Reflections on the Exploitation of Jewish Suffering (London and New York: Verso, 2000). ︎
30. On the concept of hierarchy of grief, see James J. Orr, The Victim as Hero (University of Hawaii Press 2001), and Shoshana Felman, The Juridical Unconscious (2002). ︎
31. James E. Young, The Texture of Memory: Holocaust Memorials and Meaning (Yale: Yale University Press 1993). ︎
32. Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, Decolonising the Mind (James Currey Ltd / Heinemann, 1986). ︎
33. Achille Mbembe, Critique of Black Reason (Duke University Press 2017). ︎
34. Azoulay, Potential History; Walter Mignolo, The Darker Side of Western Modernity (Duke University Press 2011). ︎
35. Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth (New York: Grove Press, 1961). ︎
36. Said, Representations of the Intellectual: The 1993 Reith Lectures (1994). ︎
37. Butler, Precarious Life: The Powers of Mourning and Violence (London and New York: Verso 2004). ︎
38. Ella Shohat,Taboo Memories, Diasporic Voices (Durham: Duke University Press, 2006), especially the introduction and Chapter 2.  ︎
39. Ella Shohat, “Zionism from the Standpoint of Its Jewish Victims,” Social Text 19/20 (1988): 1–35. Butler, Parting Ways. ︎
40. Norman Finkelstein, Beyond Chutzpah: On the Misuse of Anti-Semitism and the Abuse of History (University of California Press, 2005).  ︎
41. Rothberg, Multidirectional Memory.  ︎
42. Israel W. Charny, “Toward a Generic Definition of Genocide.” In Genocide: Conceptual and Historical Dimensions, edited by George J. Andreopoulos, (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1994), pp. 64–94. ︎
43. International Court of Justice, Case Concerning Application of the Genocide Convention (South Africa v. Israel), 2025 (pending). https://www.icj-cij.org/case/192 (last accessed 6.6.2025).  ︎
44. Enzo Traverso, The Origins of Nazi Violence (New York and London: New Press 2003). ︎
45. Andreas Huyssen, Present Pasts: Urban Palimpsests and the Politics of Memory (Stanford University Press 2003); Antonis Liakos, Πώς το παρελθόν γίνεται ιστορία [How the Past turns into History (Athens: Polis 2007). ︎
46. See for example, Deborah E. Lipstadt, Antisemitism: Here and Now. Schocken Books, 2019. ︎
47. M. LeVine & E. Cheyfitz, “Israel, Palestine, and the Poetics of Genocide Revisited”, Journal of Genocide Research, (2025), 1–23. ︎
48. International Court of Justice, Case on Palestine (South Africa v. Israel), 2024. ︎
49. Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, A Critique of Postcolonial Reason: Toward a History of the Vanishing Present ( Harvard University Press 1999). Homi K. Bhabha, The Location of Culture (Routledge 1994). Edward Said, Culture and Imperialism (New York: Vintage, 1993). ︎
50. Traverso,The Origins of Nazi Violence. A. Dirk Moses, “The Holocaust and World History: Raphael Lemkin and Comparative Methodology”. The Holocaust and Historical Methodology, edited by Dan Stone, (New York, Oxford: Berghahn Books 2012), pp. 272-289. ︎

The post Haunted Pasts and the Politics of Grief: Memory-Shells and the Struggle for Ethical Grief after Gaza appeared first on Void Network.

Is Existentialism closer to Anarchism than Marxism?

written by William L. Remley

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Every philosopher must run the gauntlet of time. Philosophical ideas fall in and out of favor, but the acid test is whether we continue to debate a philosopher’s ideas long after they have left the scene. The anniversary of Jean-Paul Sartre’s birthday in 2019, almost forty years since his death, was an appropriate moment to look back on the legacy of a philosopher whose work helped to define an era, and whose ideas continue to resonate with the political climate today.

Professor Richard Falk places Sartre alongside Noam Chomsky and Edward Said as one of the few individuals worthy of the title ‘public intellectual’. Yet towards the end of his life, even as Sartre moved further in the direction of political engagement, he lamented that his politics were not radical enough; perhaps that is why Sartre’s political philosophy is so highly disputed.

Since the publication of Critique of Dialectical Reason in 1960, scholars have largely interpreted Sartre’s political philosophy as ‘existential Marxism’: a critical appropriation of Marxism. Sartre encouraged this reception by often professing his affinity with Marxism, even stating that existentialism was parasitic to Marxism, a point he later retracted. But commentators who emphasize the influence of Marx overlook the signs of Sartre’s skepticism. Far from being a supporter of the French Communist Party, he rejected outright the dogmatic Marxism of dialectical materialism underpinning its ideology.

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“If one reads my books, one will realize that I have not changed profoundly, and that I have always remained an anarchist.”

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While Marx’s influence is overemphasized, the role of anarchism deserves far more airtime than it currently gets. Sartre said it himself: “if one reads my books, one will realize that I have not changed profoundly, and that I have always remained an anarchist”. Not only do Sartre’s anarchist undertakings underscore his political positions, from his earliest writings all the way through to the post-war period, they also provide a far more radical foundation for his ideas.

The clearest anarchist element in Sartre’s political thought is the pursuit of a society free from authoritarianism. In the early 1950s, Sartre began sketching out his vision for an ideal society, brought about by the overthrow of existing systems of oppression through revolutionary activity. In the Critique, Sartre argues that the authority-oppression paradigm is made possible by institutionalization, where groups become conditioned to eschew individual freedom, adopting serialities and their concomitant social impotence. Individual freedom is immobilized by this process but not vanquished; the potential to reform as a group-in-fusion and direct their praxis towards an ideal survives.

Sartre’s anarchist contemporaries condemned institutions which were based on coercion and authoritarianism. The state and centralized authority received the brunt of their scrutiny, with many believing that the state was illegitimate, had no right to exist, and its abolishment would eliminate many social evils. The same concerns can be seen today in the activities of the Occupy Movement, the Invisible Committee, and the Tarnac 9, all of which have come to be known as Insurrectionary Anarchism. Sartre’s account of group formation demonstrates that not only did he share such concerns about coercion and authority, he argued forcefully against the oppression of institutionalized authority long before contemporary anarchists took up the cause. Sartre’s revolutionary solution likewise entailed the eradication of the existing order.

Yet it is the degree of coercion that interested Sartre most. The philosopher’s critique of the state was that it attempted to convert human beings into automata, extending the machine metaphor to associate institutionalized bureaucracy with nefarious analytic reason. In his view, the practico-inert surrounds and conditions human existence through its seen and unseen apparatuses, representing a servitude to mechanical forces designed to quash individual freedom.

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“I have always been in agreement with anarchists, who are the only ones to have conceived of a whole man to develop through social action and whose chief characteristic is freedom”.

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In place of a state, anarchism advocates peaceful coexistence based on social freedom and our capacity for mutual aid, cooperation, respect, and communal relations. Sartre agreed, arguing that only individuals are sovereign, but that humans are united to each other and the world around them through their interactions, particularly in the workspace. According to Sartre, work is an essential attitude of human reality, founded on a need to collaborate with others based on an agreed mutual dependence. As he pointed out, “I have always been in agreement with anarchists, who are the only ones to have conceived of a whole man to develop through social action and whose chief characteristic is freedom”. While the individual is paramount, dependency prompts the being-outside-ourselves which is essential to Sartre’s concept of selfhood.

Sartre conceived the relation between humans and elements in the social sphere as ‘interest’. Interest is a univocal relation of interiority that provides the connection for humans to their environment. In contrast, subjectivity is derided as an abstraction: a verdict compelling everyone to willingly carry out the commands pronounced by society. For Sartre, interest is not our subjective, interior decisions concerning our existence; rather, it is the discovery of our being-outside-ourselves. There are no innate ideas or fixed essences, no ‘wheels in the head’ that direct our actions, as Max Stirner suggested. Instead, we are at all times situationally determined by others.

The final element of anarchist thought which I argue is echoed in Sartre’s political philosophy is the immediate and practical proposal for change: a socio-political theory that embraces, among other things, a notion of praxis. Indications of this praxis are embraced by anarchists today, including the decentralization of political and economic authority, worker self-management, and freedom of expression. There are several themes which reappear consistently throughout Sartre’s work, and the theory of praxis has to count among the most prevalent.

One of the foundational aspects of the Critique is Sartre’s desire to expose the profound dialectical relationship that unites praxis to the outside world. And on reviewing Sartre’s earlier work, we see that the intent of revolution is not only to alter the world, but to re-create our collective situation. In order to accomplish this task, praxis becomes essential, since praxis not only constitutes individual authenticity, it also eradicates the impotency of the practico-inert.

But what does Sartre mean by praxis? While the concept is somewhat nebulous, it should be understood as the historical whole determining our power at any given moment as it conditions our attitude toward an entire plethora of dichotomies, such as the possible and impossible. This occurs because praxis prescribes the limits of our actions as well as our possibilities for a future. For Sartre, the collectivity is faced with a choice to submit to the course of the world or contribute to the shaping of it. The force separating these paths is action. Action forces the individual to contextualize the event within a future possessed by everyone.

Having explored all of these shared traits, one thing is certain; Sartre’s political philosophy extends far beyond Marxism. Intrinsically linked to anarchist thought, Sartre believes that only bureaucratization, decentralization, and democratization, where the dominant forces renounce their grip on the social structure, can overcome the hegemonic, hierarchical, and oppressive nature of contemporary society.

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SOURCE: https://iai.tv/articles/sartres-anarchist-philosophy-auid-1242

The post Sartre’s Anarchist Philosophy appeared first on Void Network.

I recently saw yet another progressive with a huge platform say that Trump’s ongoing horror show is proof that we all should have done more to get out the vote for Kamala Harris. This kind of historical amnesia, whether it’s the result of intentional manipulation or panicked myopia, makes me sick to my stomach. I want to take a moment to explain why.

We cannot argue for the lesser of two evils if the difference between those two evils is not enough for survival. If the difference between two choices is not enough to make the difference between life and death, we all have the responsibility to denounce both choices and create other options.

If Republicans under Trump devise new ways to terrify immigrants and weaken meager protections against deportations, but the Democrats still manage to deport more people, the ethical and strategic response is to fight against both parties and the entire system they represent.

Greenhouse gas emissions are shooting past tipping points whether it’s the Right or the Left in power, such that an increasing number of scientists are finally admitting what anarchists and other radicals have been warning for a long time: that in the next few decades there is a very real danger of billions of humans dying¹ amidst a mass extinction event that could wipe out over half the species on the planet. In this situation, anyone who frames capitalism as a lesser evil that can be made sustainable is either harmfully ignorant of what’s actually going on or they have a psychopathic ability to barter unimaginable suffering for short-term profit.

And then there’s the question of ongoing genocide. I wish we could put a spotlight on these progressives and ask them, is genocide not a red line for you? Do you honestly believe that the political Left, in either North America or Europe, when in power, has not enabled or supported Israel’s genocide against Palestinians?

Obviously, the US, Canada, the UK, the Netherlands, and Germany all directly arm, supply, and militarily participate in the genocide. The antisemitic government of Hungary gives a great deal of political support to Israel, while Netanyahu helps cover up Orbán’s antisemitism, and the anti-Roma, anti-antifascist government of Germany shows they in fact have learned nothing from the Holocaust and give their own big, self-serving stamp of approval to Israel’s continuous war crimes.

The Socialists in Spain made a few noises and delayed a shipment or two, but in the end it was little more than a symbolic protest.

What the hell is wrong with the world where, on top of all the shitty things going on, we have to say that an ongoing genocide requires more from us than symbolic or peaceful protest? And what the hell is wrong with people that they’ve already forgotten that the largest peaceful protest movement in human history—against the US invasion of Iraq in 2003—quickly killed itself through ineffectiveness and did absolutely nothing to slow or stop the invasion and the US/UK/Australian² slaughter of hundreds of thousands of Iraqis?

Recently, the Boston Globe, the most progressive major newspaper in the US, reprinted a New York Times article about the recent assassination of two employees of the Israeli government outside the consulate in DC. The article worried that “the killings of the Israeli Embassy workers […] cast a harsh spotlight on the pro-Palestinian movement in the United States and the impact even peaceful protests might be having on attitudes against people connected to Israel. […] The killings also risked painting all pro-Palestinian activists, the vast majority of whom do not engage in violence, with the same brush”.

The Council on American-Islamic Relations and Jewish Voices for Peace both gave voluminous quotes condemning the violence (by which they meant the two dead Israeli government employees), saying things like “Peaceful protest, civil disobedience, and political engagement are the only appropriate and acceptable tools”.

I’ve heard several people claim that the two people killed were not complicit in Israel’s genocide. To be clear, one was an IDF soldier who did “political research” for the Israeli government, whereas the other, Sarah Milgrim, worked on “public diplomacy” and described herself as encouraging “dialogue” and “peacebuilding”. I can’t state emphatically enough, this is a whitewash. Any large US embassy around the world has similar missions, including in countries where the US military supports death squads or has carried out war crimes: the purpose is always to improve the image of the home country so it can continue to carry out atrocities with less resistance. There is no way the Israeli government was paying someone to do public diplomacy if that involved so much as acknowledging the ongoing genocide.

Farther down the page, the Globe ran this article:

This article distorts what is going on in a number of ways. Since October 7, 2023, Israel has been subjecting the Gaza strip to starvation conditions, using hunger as a weapon, which is a war crime and a form of genocide. Sometimes they let a little food in, sometimes they let no food in. The tiny convoy Israel allowed last week was not “minimal,” it was completely insufficient to reduce the ongoing starvation caused by the prior two months in which Israel had completely stopped food shipments. Gazans do not “face a high risk of famine” as the article claims; they have been enduring famine for over year, Israel has deliberately engineered these conditions, and thousands of Palestinians have already died from famine. In just two days, the same week as the attack on the Israeli Consulate workers, 29 people in Gaza died of acute starvation, and 71,000 Palestinian children under the age of five are estimated to be suffering acute malnourishment, which can lead to premature death and lifelong disability, and chronic health problems.

Now let’s take these two articles together. Somebody kills two Israeli government employees who are taking large paychecks to help cover up an ongoing atrocity and improve Israel’s political position in the world even as it promises to continue the killings. According to progressives, even though more than 300,000 Palestinians have probably been killed by bombs, guns, starvation, and skyrocketing disease rates in a calculated campaign of genocide, it’s not justifiable to kill two people who are complicit in that genocide, even after the campus occupation movement tried peacefully for over a year to get one set of institutions—the universities—to divest from the genocide, with no major successes. Not only that, but the consulate shootings, carried out by one person, cast a mark of shame and should potentially be cause to demobilize the entire movement.

Meanwhile, that same week, the Israeli military murders 60 Palestinian civilians in an area where they are deliberately subjecting 2 million people to starvation, and Israel’s supporters and business partners are not stained at all, they can just walk around with their heads held high?

Here are some relevant facts that rarely get mentioned in the mainstream conversation about the genocide.

• On a weekly basis, the Israeli state, together with paramilitary settlers, demolishes Palestinian homes, destroys Palestinian orchards and farmland, and steals Palestinian land. On average, every year over 1000 Palestinian homes are destroyed and 2000 hectares of Palestinian land are stolen, with an average of 12,000 Israeli settlers streaming onto those lands every year. (2000 hectares of land equals almost 5000 acres or 3,700 football fields.)
• In the decade prior to the October 7 offensive, the Israeli military killed around 1000 Palestinian children, and over 4000 total Palestinian civilians. They injured over 100,000 Palestinians, leaving many of them permanently disabled.
• By the UN’s count, Israel has killed over 16 times more Palestinians and injured 30 times more Palestinians (i.e. Palestinians are not the aggressors: the number of Israelis killed by Palestinians is miniscule, and all of those killings happen on Palestinian land, which the Israelis are invading).
• The UN inflates the numbers to Israel’s favor, setting a lower bar for registering injuries to Israelis and admitting that they don’t count casualties that overwhelmingly hurt Palestinians, like “access delays” [i.e. ambulances held up at checkpoints] and “unexploded ordnance”. In other words, we’re looking at something closer to 20 Palestinians killed for every 1 Israeli.

This isn’t a secret genocide. It’s not like Israel is effectively covering it up. Just this Monday, Israelis held their annual, state-funded, police supported racist march through the Muslim Quarter of Jerusalem, celebrating the ethnic cleansing of 1967 when Israel seized all of Palestine, and shouting pro-genocide slogans like “Gaza is ours,” “death to Arabs” and “may their villages burn!” as they vandalize and ransack Palestinian shops and homes.

The only people who can’t admit that Israel is the clear aggressor are white supremacists who refuse to believe Palestinian lives have any value.

Since the Hamas offensive in Gaza on October 7 2023, the IDF began killing many more children in the West Bank, which is controlled by the PLO, an anti-Hamas organization not connected with the October 7 attacks. And they accelerated their land theft and forcible displacement—also acts of genocide—in the West Bank.

Saying that Israel is taking advantage of the war to carry out ethnic cleansing isn’t exactly correct, since whether or not Palestinians are rising up in resistance, the Israeli government and paramilitary settlers are killing Palestinians and stealing their land. Nobody can point to a single year this century without Israel erasing Palestinian communities through home demolitions, land theft, torture, mass imprisonment, and lethal force. There is no modern Israel without ethnic cleansing.

(I strongly recommend this historical overview from Al Jazeera, that includes plenty of maps and visuals that represent the progressive occupation of Palestine, as well as this chronology of the occupation and Amnesty International’s description of 50 years of dispossession.)

https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2023/11/27/palestine-and-israel-brief-history-maps-and-charts

https://www.aljazeera.com/features/2018/6/4/the-naksa-how-israel-occupied-the-whole-of-palestine-in-1967

https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/campaigns/2017/06/israel-occupation-50-years-of-dispossession/

Most of the death tolls that are cited in the media do not include the tens of thousands of Palestinians who have died premature deaths because the Israeli military and apartheid regime denied them access to food and medicine. And it usually does not include Palestinians who fight back against the genocidal Israeli regime. For example, the study on the 126 Palestinian children killed in the West Bank in 2023 simply leaves out any children “involved in hostilities,” which as near as I can tell means throwing stones or running messages for resistance groups.

And yet, Israeli deaths are counted even if they’re soldiers engaging in war crimes. Israeli paramilitaries—settlers armed with uzis and sniper rifles living on recently stolen land—are routinely referred to as “civilians” by the news.

With the complicity of the military, police, and rightwing parties, heavily armed, racist and ultranationalist settlers have captured the mainstream of Israeli politics and now set the agenda. Click the link to read a detailed story of how it unfolded.

Here’s something else you probably didn’t know:

Hamas didn’t kill 1,195 Israelis on October 7, 2023. Their primary mission was to take prisoners to use as political leverage. Who caused how many deaths is unknown, but it is well documented by video records and the testimony of the Israeli military itself that the Israeli military opened fire on the music festival as well as convoys and military bases full of imprisoned Israelis, because they have an official policy to kill Israeli soldiers and civilians in a potential hostage situation, to deny any leverage to their enemy.

Also, according to the media, Hamas “kidnaps” or “takes hostages,” whereas Israel “arrests” or “detains,” even though Israel has around 10,000 extrajudicial Palestinian hostages taken from Gaza, the West Bank, and Jerusalem, many of them children, and Palestinians held by Israel have no rights of due process, face “sham trials” with 100% conviction rates, and are systematically subject to torture, racist treatment, and sexual violence.

Additionally, the Israeli military systematically uses Palestinians, including children, as human shields, forcing them to walk in front of columns of soldiers, and to open doors and tunnels that are potentially booby-trapped. And yet the media consistently use language that portrays Israelis and Israeli institutions as more legitimate.

What we are dealing with are a series of double standards, many of them reproduced across the political spectrum, that are used either to justify genocide or to pacify and delegitimize any real resistance.

Israel is allowed to have a military, but even though Palestinians are facing down genocide every day, if one of them picks up a gun they become a terrorist. And if a Palestinian child picks up a rock, they are no longer a civilian and their death is quite literally not counted. An Israeli “civilian,” though, can walk around with a semi-automatic rifle, assaulting unarmed Palestinians, destroying their property, harassing them with racist insults, smug in the knowledge that Israel’s military administration of the West Bank is there to protect them and their systematic land theft.

We know peaceful protest is incapable of changing the hearts and minds of IDF soldiers or the Israeli government, and we also know it’s incapable of materially sabotaging the war effort at an effective scale.

We can accept that historically, people who shot back, who killed Nazis, were doing the right thing. When looking at the 19^th century or earlier, many people will also accept that Indigenous peoples had a right of self-defense against the genocidal settlers who founded the US, Canada, Argentina, Chile, Australia… Fewer people will apply those same principles to, say, Iraqis fighting the US invasion and occupation from 2003 onward. A more common version of NIMBY, Not In My Backyard, is Not In My Century: so many people cannot admit that the governments that rule them are completely evil and irredeemable, even if they are carrying out genocide or, in the case of NATO, killing millions of people.

Instead, they claim these are bad things that need to be solved by getting out the vote and choosing the lesser evil. There is nothing about this viewpoint that is reasonable, or caring, or nuanced, or engaged with reality. It is a panicked dissociation based in fear, comfort, and self-interest.

We need to be able to acknowledge that Palestinians have both a valid right and an existential necessity to shoot back; and we also need to be able to criticize the PLO for their total corruption, and to criticize Hamas for being a far Right, homophobic, patriarchal, authoritarian organization.

But if we can’t even validate Palestinian resistance and international solidarity, we become complicit in the current situation, in which Palestinians are subjected to the corruption and brutality of the PLO, the oppressive, authoritarian politics of Hamas, and—the worst by far—the mass killings, calculated starvation, torture, land theft, housing demolitions, hospital bombings, racism, and harassment at the hands of the state of Israel.

Validating Palestinian resistance, supporting meaningful and high-impact acts of solidarity, and supporting the many initiatives and groups that are fighting against apartheid and for a free Palestine and a free world: that is the only conscionable response to the genocide, which has been occurring in one form or another for well over 60 years.

If you encounter anyone who makes knee-jerk condemnations of Palestinian resistance or says we should support the Democrats, the Liberals, Labour, SPD and the Greens – please, call them out and try to explain how they are legitimizing genocide. And if you’re too shy for that kind of confrontation, just drop them a link to this article.

None of us are free until all of us are free.

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Read more articles by Peter Gelderloos and support his magnificent work here: https://petergelderloos.substack.com/p/deadly-double-standards

Peter Gelderloos is a writer and social movement participant. He is the author of The Solutions are Already Here: Strategies for Ecological Revolution from Below, How Nonviolence Protects the State, Anarchy Works, The Failure of Non-Violence, and Worshiping Power: An Anarchist View of Early State Formation. He has contributed chapters to the anthologies Keywords for Radicals and Riots and Militant Occupations. His books have been translated into Spanish, Portuguese, French, Italian, Russian, German, Greek and Serbo-Croat. 

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NOTES:

1. If you google search for the predicted death toll of the climate crisis, you are likely to get articles from 2023 that claim “a billion” deaths over the next decades. Few of them mention that the August 2023 study they reference describes 1 billion as a conservative estimate, and several billion as a more likely death toll. Conservative sources like the University of Chicago and World Economic Forum articles claim that there “might be” hundreds of thousands or even a couple million yearly deaths “in the future,” obscuring the fact that tens of millions of humans are already dying every year from the compounded effects of the ecological crisis, a figure I demonstrate in The Solutions Are Already Here. ︎
2. The Australian government still claims that Saddam Hussein’s regimes had weapons of mass destruction and ties with terrorist groups like al Qaeda, even though both of these justifications were known to be lies even before the invasion was launched in 2003. ︎

The post Deadly Double Standards – Peter Gelderloos appeared first on Void Network.

The family is marketed as a safe space, a place of love and mutual care, but this is not supported by the data—How do we bring our experiences of mutual support networks to the centre of society?

~ written by Alana Queer, original text in Spanish: El Salto ~

Something is wrong. We already struggle to imagine the end of capitalism, but abolishing the family? Feminism seems to have long since abandoned this old feminist demand, and this year the LGBTQIA+ movement in Spain will celebrate twenty years of equal marriage, that is, its inclusion in this patriarchal institution of marriage and family that marks a new “homonormativity,” which is primarily a copy of heteronormativity. We’re in trouble. We lack imagination, we lack visions of other forms of coexistence and parenting.

I write this article from my perspective as a family survivor. A survivor of sexual abuse, psychological and emotional abuse and neglect, abuse that has left me with complex trauma that I am still learning to live with. To live, not just survive, as I have done for decades of my life. Writing from a survivor’s perspective, in a way, is writing from the perspective of a child, providing a counterpoint to the debate dominated by adult-centric perspectives.

When I think of family, the first words that come to mind are violence, (sexual) abuse, abandonment, mistreatment, emotional blackmail… Not for a millisecond of my life have I considered starting a family. 

While I strongly agree with the diagnosis of the family’s role in the economic and political order, as put forward, for example, by Nuria Alabao in this article or Sophie Lewis in her book Abolish the Family, in a way, this diagnosis is unnecessary. I only have to think about my own experience, look at my surroundings, my friends, and what I see is violence, mistreatment, abuse, emotional neglect, and all the resulting traumas. Is it possible that so many of us have simply been unlucky? Perhaps there is a more structural problem, that it’s not something failing in some (many) individual families, but the family system itself that is at fault?

The family, a system of mistreatment and abuse

The family is marketed as a safe space, a place of love and mutual care. Above all, it is said that the family is the best place for children. This could not be further from the truth.  According to a meta-analysis of physical violence experienced or witnessed in the family at the global level, in Europe 12.7% of children have been victims of physical violence in their family, with a higher rate for boys compared to girls (girls are not included in the analysis), and 10.5% have witnessed physical violence in their family. Another global meta-analysis of more types of abuse and neglect reaches even higher results: 14.3% of girls and 6.2% of boys had suffered sexual abuse, 27% of boys and 12% of girls had suffered physical abuse, 6.2% of boys and 12.9% of girls had suffered emotional abuse, and 14.8% of boys and 13.9% of girls had suffered neglect during their childhood. Overall, boys suffer more physical abuse and neglect, and girls more emotional and sexual abuse. Fathers perpetrate more physical and sexual abuse, while mothers perpetrate more emotional abuse and neglect.

A study in the United Kingdom concluded that 41.7% of children were exposed to some form of child abuse—physical, sexual, or emotional abuse, or physical or emotional neglect. Some 19.3% witnessed domestic violence between their parents or care-givers within the family. The famous ACE Study (Adverse Childhood Experiences Study) of 1998 in the United States reached prevalence rates of 11.1% for psychological abuse, 10.8% for physical abuse, 22% for sexual abuse, and 12.5% ​​for exposure to domestic violence against the mother. Children often suffer more than one form of abuse at a time.

In Spain, an estimated 18.9% of the population has been a victim of sexual abuse in childhood (15.2% of men and 22.5% of women), more than half of whom were perpetrated by a family member. According to a report by Save the Children, more than 25% of children in Spain have been victims of abuse by their parents or care-givers.

Despite considerable variation across studies, all of them show the family as a site—the primary site—of abuse, mistreatment, and neglect. Studies that differentiate by sexual orientation, such as one from the United States, generally find much higher prevalence rates of abuse and mistreatment across all categories for LGBTQIA+ people compared to heterosexuals. And children who exhibit behaviours that do not conform to their assigned sex at birth suffer even more abuse of all kinds.

Beyond abuse, 40% of children never develop a secure attachment to one of their care-givers. According to research by the Sutton Trust in the United Kingdom, “Many children lack secure attachment relationships. Around 1 in 4 children avoid their parents when they are upset because they ignore their needs. Another 15% resist their parents because they cause distress.” According to the same research, insecure parental attachment is the most important risk factor; that is, insecure attachment is reproduced from generation to generation if parents with insecure attachment do not work on their own attachment styles and traumas.

To these figures of child abuse and neglect, we can add the high prevalence of intimate partner violence, gender violence, and domestic violence. Witnessing this violence also has negative consequences for children.

Is the family a safe place of love and care? The numbers debunk this myth. We can say that for children, the least safe and most dangerous place is their family home. With these figures—a prevalence of abuse between 15% and 40%—how can we think that something is wrong at the individual level, that the problem isn’t the structure (the family), but a lack of education, resources, etc.?

I invite you to a thought experiment. Let’s imagine a society wants to choose between several models of coexistence and parenting: tribal or community parenting, other models I have no idea what they might be, and family parenting. Predictions of child abuse are estimated for each model. Can we imagine that a model with a 25% prediction of abuse would be chosen? I doubt it.

Child abuse: lifelong damage

Child abuse leaves lifelong damage, I know this from my own experience. For example, complex trauma refers to early negative experiences involving neglect and/or abuse that occur within an attachment relationship with the primary care-giver. This means that the figure who is supposed to provide affection, love, and protection to the child is, at the same time, a source of anxiety, threat, neglect, and/or abuse, resulting in distressing experiences such as verbal abuse, abandonment, bullying, emotional invalidation, abandonment, and so on.

Because of their ongoing nature, such abuse generates a stress response that leaves a mark on the brain. Furthermore, these situations go unnoticed externally and are cumulative. In many ways, complex trauma is related to “non-events,” things that didn’t happen when they should have—a look, a smile, being considered, or a comforting hug. These non-events have a significant impact, although they don’t remain as memories beyond emotional sensations.

I know all this very well. It’s estimated that up to 7.7% of adults suffer from complex post-traumatic stress disorder (c-PTSD or complex PTSD) and up to 20% suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder. To me, these numbers seem too low. However, it’s important to keep in mind that this isn’t a simple binary—either you have PTSD or complex PTSD according to strict diagnostic criteria, or you’re fine. Problems with emotional regulation, forming close relationships, behaviour, trust, and a negative self-image can all be present and can cause considerable problems without meeting all the diagnostic criteria for PTSD or complex PTSD.

Complex trauma, often also called complex developmental trauma or developmental trauma, is in the vast majority of cases the result of prolonged emotional abuse and neglect in childhood and adolescence. Here we see many of the 15% of children who avoid their parents because they cause distress: survivors of sexual abuse and other forms of prolonged maltreatment.

There are also other consequences for mental and physical health: eating disorders, depression, other mental disorders, substance use and abuse, and much more. From the ACE study in the United States, we know that adverse childhood experiences have a profound impact on many areas of adult health.

Towards other models

So, we abolish the family. Okay! But what do we put in its place? Sophie Lewis says: “Nothing.” Perhaps an overly simplistic answer. 

It’s true that in the current system, the family fulfils functions for which the best answer is “nothing”. As Nuria Alabao says, “The family is not a neutral institution: it is still sustained by hierarchical relations of subordination based on gender, age, and race/migration origin. […] As an institution, the family has a central economic function; it has always been essential to the reproduction of classes in capitalism, to allocate inheritances, transmit property, or guarantee the payment of debts”. These are the functions we don’t want to replace. Enough with Sophie Lewis’s “nothing.” We don’t need a gender police force, we don’t need an institution that reproduces patriarchy and prepares children to function well under capitalism.

However, there are other functions of the family in the current system, such as parenting and caregiving, which the family performs quite poorly, as I’ve shown above, but which are nonetheless necessary. We need other models of living together, of relating, of parenting, and of organising caregiving.

Today, mainstream feminism has nothing more to offer than promoting “co-responsibility” in parenting, that is, equal participation of fathers in childrearing. Where are the more radical visions?

I don’t mean that children need their mother, father or biological parent, but they do need adults who allow them a safe and stable attachment.

According to Nuria Alabao, “In 19th-century socialism linked to the labour movement, and later in the 1970s, class-based feminism called for the socialisation of social reproduction: soup kitchens, 24-hour day-care, or innovated experiences of nurturing or support on the margins”. However, even these proposals don’t question the family itself in a deeper way. They are proposals more focused on allowing women to participate in the labour market. Ultimately, they are adult-centric proposals. And, regarding the miserable figures of children with secure attachments, I fear that these proposals could even worsen the situation for children if the nuclear family model is maintained. By this, I don’t mean that children need their biological mother, father, or parent, but they do need adults who allow them a secure and stable attachment.

In this sense, it might even be helpful to “de-centre” biological parents, to think about care and parenting in a community, a tribe, parenting models that include a network, a community of adults in the children’s lives. The African proverb “it takes a village to raise a child” points in this direction. Children need more secure and stable relationships with adults, beyond their parents, a “village.”

There is some research on the perspectives of children raised in consensually non-monogamous relationships. According to Elisabeth Sheff, “The presence of more than two adults in the family provides several advantages to children, such as receiving more attention, nurturing, and time from significant adults, receiving more gifts for special occasions, and being exposed to a greater number of positive role models. It also allows them to form family bonds with other children beyond biogenetic kinship and to have more siblings”.

The parenting network does not have to be limited to the sexual and emotional bonds of the parents: I am thinking of networks of relational anarchy, networks that decentralize love and the couple.

Other recent research with children says: “Children living in polyamorous households often view their parents’ romantic partners as resource persons, which fosters the development of a positive view of these adults in the child. Many children explained their affection for their parents’ partners by highlighting how these adults cared for them and supported them, emotionally and materially. This echoes studies conducted with parents practicing NMC, who described their extra-dyadic romantic partners as supportive, loving, and understanding, not only for them but also for their children.”  Thinking further, in terms of the concept of “village” or community, the nurturing network need not be limited to the parents’ sexual affective ties. I’m thinking of networks of relational anarchy, networks that de-centre love and the couple (or couples).

This isn’t so simple. Myriam Rodríguez del Real and Javier Correa Román say in an article in El Salto: “The central issue is understanding that friendship has been emptied of material content in order to centralize the couple. Societies construct systems of kinship and affinity that determine which bonds are recognized and which are left on the margins. The heterosexual monogamous couple constitutes the center of these systems, and the rest of the relationships (including friendship) are reconfigured in response to it”.

And: “Therefore, it is not simply a matter of ‘giving more importance to friends,’ but of rejecting the current configurations of both the couple and friendship to create new relational forms. We need to ‘disorient’ (…) the normative notions of affection in order to imagine other forms of relational inhabitation. Only to the extent that we think of other forms of friendship does the couple cease to make sense as the organising centre of our lives”.

In a talk about abolishing the family in Seville two years ago, considering alternatives to the family, Nuria Alabao spoke about building relationships with a reciprocal obligation (in order to assume caregiving), and that these types of relationships take time to build. We already have this obligation in today’s family, and I seriously doubt it contributes to adequate care, neither for children nor for adults or the elderly. For me, caregiving out of obligation isn’t care, but rather a sacrifice. And, today, the vast majority of women have to make this sacrifice to care for their parents or another relative.

How do we bring our experiences of mutual support networks to the centre of society? How do we change our perceptions so that we see ourselves as capable of trusting these networks?

Personally, I think more about making commitments—that is, I voluntarily make a commitment in a relationship (of any kind) that doesn’t require reciprocity. It’s more about trusting the network (of relational anarchy, of my community), that when I need care or support, there will be a person in the network (or several) who can take it on, and they don’t have to be the same people who previously received support from me. I feel like this is something we’re already trying to practice in my network.

Hil Malatino, in his book Trans Care  (Bellaterra, 2021) ,  offers this minimal definition of community: people who are re-weaving. And when I review my experience of the last nine years, facing my family traumas, it has been a constant re-weaving of my networks. Some people left my networks, others joined. Perhaps we should leave behind the idea of ​​a stable, lifelong mutual support network that should assume the care and support—emotional, financial, parenting, when we are sick—that today is assumed (often poorly) by the family, and instead rely on our networks, always fragile, always in reconfiguration, but capable of sustaining us when we need them? I don’t know. I’m still afraid of it myself, but, at the same time, my networks have sustained me over the past few years, and they continue to sustain me.

How do we bring our experiences of mutual support networks to the centre of society? How do we change our perceptions so that we see ourselves as capable of trusting these networks? How can we strengthen them?

I don’t have the answers. I think it’s about building by walking and experimenting. This is just a start. And, for me, building alternatives to family, new structures of mutual support and care, is a matter of survival. I’ve outlived my family, and I’ve gotten this far thanks to my networks.

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Source: Freedom Press

The post Abolishing the family: A survivor’s perspective appeared first on Void Network.

Written by Felipe Corrêa and Rafael Viana da Silva

We are going to take up the contributions of Bakunin and Malatesta to establish a dialogue between them and the Platform, trace the similarities and differences between the proposals of anarchists who advocate an organizational dualism and those of the Bolsheviks, and we will see the proximity of Malatesta with the Synthesis, as well as the historical impact of the Platform, which will make it possible to elucidate the positions that have been disseminated about this debate.

Anarchism is a political-doctrinal ideology that emerged in the nineteenth century, with a hegemony of mass oriented strategies, especially syndicalism (revolutionary syndicalism and anarcho-syndicalism). Among the fundamental positions of “mass anarchism” are the defense of organization, of reforms as a possible path to revolution (provided they are properly conquered through class struggle) and of violence when associated with previously organized popular movements. Such positions are distinguished from other minority positions characterized by their anti-organizationism, their opposition to the struggle for reforms and their defense of violence as a trigger for popular mobilization (“propaganda by the deed”).

Those who have taken part in mass anarchism and defend organizational dualism—concomitant organization on two levels, one political/anarchist and the other mass/social—are not the majority, but among them there are relevant authors with significant positions and, above all, a solid historical experience, supported by the theoretical and practical construction of anarchist organizations.[2]

Contributions from Bakunin

Despite the fact that, after important attempts to compile them, Bakunin’s complete works have finally been published in French[3], his writings on the so-called “Fraternity” of 1864 and “Alliance” of 1868 —to use the terminology proposed by Max Nettlau— are very little known.

Bakunin’s mass strategy has been thoroughly discussed in relevant texts such as Bakunin: Founder of Revolutionary Syndicalism, by Gaston Leval,[4] and several others by René Berthier.[5] Not so much his theory of political organization—which he addresses extensively in different documents—which is his attempt to base the political-organizational proposals he had in terms of principles, program, strategy and organization.

There seems to be some shame around these writings, especially among French anarchists. It is as if they belonged to an authoritarian heritage, perhaps of Blanquist and Jacobin inspiration, which remains in the author and should not be brought to light.[6]

We believe that Bakunin’s positions on anarchist political organization, from 1868 onwards, are fully reconciled with his mass strategy, which he proposed to the International Workingmen’s Association (IWA), and should be recognized as a relevant part of his anarchism. Today, such positions seem to carry weight as a pillar for fruitful reflections on the most suitable organizational model for anarchist intervention.

Bakunin argued that the Alliance should have a dual objective: on the one hand, to stimulate the growth of and strengthen the IWA; on the other, to bring together all those who had political-ideological affinities with anarchism—or, as it was generically called in that period, revolutionary socialism or collectivism— around principles, a program and a common strategy.[7] In sum, create and strengthen both political organization and a mass movement, which has been called organizational dualism:

They [Alliance militants] will form the inspiring and vivifying soul of that immense body that we call the International Workers’ Association […]; then they will deal with issues that are impossible to discuss publicly; they will form the necessary bridge between the propaganda of socialist theories and revolutionary practice.[8]

For Bakunin, it was not necessary for the Alliance to have a large number of militants: “The number of these individuals should not, therefore, be immense.” The Alliance had to constitute a political organization, public and secret, with an active minority and collective responsibility among the members, to bring together “the most safe, the most committed, the smartest and the most energetic, in a word the most intimate,” with groups in various countries and the ability to decisively influence the working masses.[9] The organization had to be based on internal regulations and a strategic program to establish, respectively, its organic functioning and its political-ideological and programmatic-strategic bases, forging a common axis for anarchist action.

Only “he who [has] frankly accepted the entire program with all its theoretical and practical consequences and who, along with intelligence, energy, honesty and discretion, [has] also a revolutionary passion” could be a member of the organization. Internally, there should be no hierarchy among the members of the Bakuninist political organization and decisions had to be made from the bottom up, generally by majority (varying from consensus to simple majority depending on the relevance of the issue), and all had to abide by decisions taken collectively. This meant applying federalism—advocated as a form of social organization that must decentralize power and create “a revolutionary organization from the bottom up and from the periphery to the center”—in the internal bodies of the anarchist organization.[10]

The Alliance should not exercise a relationship of domination and / or hierarchy over the IWA, rather it should complement it; and vice versa. Together, these two organizational bodies had to complement and enhance the revolutionary project of the workers, without the submission of either party.

The Alliance is the necessary complement to the International ... But the International and the Alliance, tending towards the same end goal, pursue different goals at the same time. One’s mission is to bring together the working masses, the millions of workers, with their different professions and countries, across the borders of all States, in a single huge and compact body; the other, the Alliance, has the mission of giving the masses a truly revolutionary leadership. The programs of one and the other, without being in any way opposite, are different by the very degree of their respective development. That of the International, if taken seriously, contains in germ, but only in germ, the whole program of the Alliance. The program of the Alliance is the ultimate expression of the [program] of the International. [11]

The union of these two organizations—one political, of minorities (cadres), another social, of majorities (masses)—and their horizontal and permanent organization enhance the strength of workers and increase the opportunities of the anarchist transformation process. Within the mass movement, the political organization makes anarchists more effective in disputes over positions. This formation, organized and in favor of its program, is opposed to forces that are oriented in the opposite direction and that may seek: to raise to the status of principle any of the different political-ideological and/or religious positions; to minimize its eminently class-based character; to strengthen reformist positions (viewing reform as an end) and the loss of combativeness of the movement; to establish internal hierarchies and/or relations of domination; to direct the force of workers toward elections and/or toward strategies of change that imply the takeover of the State; to submit the movement to parties, states or other organizations that eliminate, in the process, the protagonism of the oppressed classes and their institutions.

Contributions from Malatesta

Various ideas from Malatesta resemble those described previously, especially the set of organizational proposals on the “anarchist party,” the name by which he referred to the specific anarchist organization. “Parties” of this type took shape historically and had considerable involvement, as were the cases of the Anarchist Socialist Revolutionary Party, of 1891, the Anarchist Party of Ancona, of 1913, and the Italian Anarchist Union, of 1919–1920.[12]

Malatesta conceptualized the anarchist party as “the ensemble of those who are out to help make anarchy a reality and who therefore need to set themselves a target to achieve and a path to follow.” For him, “staying isolated, with each individual acting or seeking to act on his own without entering into agreement with others, without making preparations, without marshalling the flabby strength of singletons into a mighty coalition, is tantamount to condemning oneself to impotence, to squandering one’s own energies on trivial, ineffective acts and, very quickly, losing belief in one’s purpose and lapsing into utter inaction.”[13].

In order for anarchists to be effective in their action, they had to establish a common strategy and program and overcome the form of affinity groups that have no contact with social struggles. The goal of the party was stated as follows: “We want to act on it [the mass] and propel it along the path that we believe to be best, but as our objective is to liberate and not dominate, we want to accustom it to free initiative and freedom of action”[14]. Obviously that path was that of the social revolution.

The Malatestian party is founded on revolutionary discipline and in the principle of unity. “Without understanding, without coordination of each other’s efforts for common and simultaneous action, victory is not materially possible.” But “discipline must not be slavish discipline, blind devotion to bosses, an obedience to the one who always speaks so as not to have to move.” This is about revolutionary discipline, which means “consistency with accepted norms and fidelity to assumed commitments, […] feeling obliged to share the work and the risks with comrades in struggle”[15]. The principle of unity establishes that it is not enough to have a platform of association that calls itself anarchist. Although anarchists may seem united, Malatesta affirms that he does not believe “in the soundness of organizations built upon concessions and subterfuge and where there is no real agreement and sympathy between the members.” He continues, “Better dis-united than mis-united”[16].

Propaganda and education were fundamental activities to be carried out by the anarchists. We “carry on our propaganda to raise the moral level of the masses and induce them to win their emancipation by their own efforts.” Of course, propaganda should be organized and planned: “Isolated, sporadic propaganda which is often a way of easing a troubled conscience or is simply an outlet for someone who has a passion for argument, serves little or no purpose.” For Malatesta, “seeds sown haphazardly” had great difficulty germinating and taking root. Rather, what is needed “is continuity of effort, patience, coordination, and adaptability to different surroundings and circumstances.” Anarchists should occupy themselves with education, “education for freedom,” “making people who are accustomed to obedience and passivity consciously aware of their real power and capabilities”[17]. However, he believed that propaganda and education alone were not enough. “We would be deluding ourselves in thinking that propaganda is enough to raise them [the people] to that level of intellectual development which is needed to put our ideas into effect.”[18] In relation to education, Malatesta criticizes the “educationists […] who assert that through propaganda and instruction, the defense of free thought and positive science, with the establishment of popular universities and modern schools, it is possible to destroy in the masses religious prejudice, moral subjection to state rule and belief in sacrosanct property rights”[19].

In reality, for him these initiatives were very limited: “Educationists should see how powerless their generous efforts are.” The consciousness of the masses could not be sensibly elevated and the environment transformed “as long as the economic and political conditions [of the moment] [lasted]”[20].

Malatesta proposed organizational base building work, to be carried out daily by anarchists:

In normal times [it is necessary] to carry out the long and patient work of preparation and popular organization and not to fall into the illusion of short-term revolution, achievable only by the initiative of a few, without the effective participation of the masses. Since this preparation is carried out in an adverse environment, do not neglect propaganda, agitation or organization of the masses, among other things.[21]

The activities of organized anarchists would therefore be “the propagation of our ideas; unceasing struggle, violent or non-violent depending on the circumstances, against government and against the boss class to conquer as much freedom and well-being as we can for the benefit of everybody”[22].

Bakunin, Malatesta and the Platform: “Anarcho-Bolshevism”?

First of all, it must be said that when Bakunin developed his praxis—and his theory and practice of political organization—which would directly influence Malatesta, Lenin had just been born and Bolshevism would still take many years to emerge. Therefore, to accuse Bakuninist organizational dualism of being “Leninist” is an anachronism.[23]

At the same time, it also seems problematic to assume that by defending organizational dualism Bakunin, Malatesta and Lenin should be considered part of the same current or political-ideological tradition, resembling each other to some extent. As is known, this dualism was understood and practiced in a very distinct way in the anarchist tradition and in the Leninist tradition, including its Trotskyist and other variations. Any canonical text of Marxism-Leninism on the question—for example, Lenin’s What Is to Be Done?[24]—shows this clearly. Apart from parallel work on two different levels, one of the cadre party and the other of the mass movement, there are no major similarities.

To be concise, there are two fundamental differences that can be marked between the organizational praxis of Bakunin and Malatesta and that of Lenin: the internal structure of the organization and the relationship between organization and mass movements.

In the first instance, in the anarchist political organization there is internal democracy and decisions are made from the bottom up. It is the grassroots organizations and the militants themselves who discuss and resolve all the organization’s issues. There is no hierarchy between the members so there is no leadership-base division. Leninist political organization, on the contrary, is based on “democratic centralism,” which envisioned a hierarchical organizational model, with a leadership-base division, so that although the base is consulted for decision-making, who in fact deliberates is the leadership, including against the positions of the base. In other words, there is no internal democracy and decisions are made from top to bottom.

Unity of action, defended by a sector of anarchism, is often confused with democratic centralism. What makes the difference between the two positions is not the obligation regarding the decisions made, common in both cases, but who makes the decisions and the way they are made. In anarchist organizations everyone effectively participates and deliberates on all issues (sometimes through majority mechanisms); in Leninist organizations, on the other hand, even though the rank and file are consulted, the leadership is the one who decides and hierarchically imposes decisions.

Secondly, the anarchist political organization functions in a complementary way to mass movements and does not attempt to impose a relationship of hierarchy and/or domination. Its function is to strengthen the leadership of these movements, since in the anarchist project the masses must be responsible for revolutionary social transformation. The organization is part of the masses and brings together an ideologically related sector that seeks to strengthen its position in political disputes. The Leninist organization differs in that it believes that popular movements are only able to fight in the short term, in the struggles for demands. Leninists believe that it is the party that must provide movements with transformative capacity and that the party itself must lead in the process of revolutionary social transformation. The party is conceived as a separate sector of the masses that exerts a relation of hierarchy and domination over them, withdrawing their class independence and protagonism.

That is why we are not in agreement with the assertion that the positions of Bakunin and Malatesta—according to our point of view, as we will argue later, rescued in several respects by the Platform and by various anarchist political organizations—constitute some kind of “anarcho-Bolshevism” or carry Leninist traits. Both Bakunin and Malatesta—and later Makhno, Archinov, Ida Mett and others—had the anarchist political organization as one of their important topics for reflection and established its framework within anarchist principles. The link between anarchist organizational dualism and Leninism, which has been established with some frequency in the past and continues to establish itself in the present, has no historiographical foundation, not even theoretical-logical. It seems to relate more to the self-serving motives of those who make these claims than to a historical phenomenon.

Anyone who takes on this topic with a minimum of seriousness and intellectual honesty will verify the erroneousness of the alleged relationship of Bakunin, Malatesta and the Platform with Bolshevism. In the case of the Platform, its main aspects are based on the long anarchist political tradition and its authors lived through the experience of a concrete social revolution, dulled by the authoritarian politics of the Bolsheviks, which makes the characterization of its authors as anarcho-Bolsheviks more absurd.[25]
The Platform and the debate between anarchists

The Platform and the debate between anarchists

The Organizational Platform of the General Union of Anarchists, written in 1926 by a group of Russians and Ukrainians exiled in France, constitutes a frame of reference in the discussion on anarchist organization. In our view, the debate on this document has been relatively truncated and, for certain reasons, misunderstood by a significant part of those interested in the subject.

The result of a process of self-criticism by anarchists in the wake of developments of the Russian and Ukrainian revolutions, the Platform was published as a program proposal for anarchists. Divided into three major sections —general, constructive and organizational—the Platform upholds, among other things: the critique of capitalist society, the State and representative democracy and the centrality of class struggle; the need for leadership of the masses for the revolution, through class and federalist intervention; criticism of the dictatorship of the proletariat as a period of transition; the defense of syndicalism as a relevant means for anarchist action; the establishment of a post-revolutionary society in which production and land have been socialized; the creation of organs for the defense of the revolution; the formation of an anarchist political organization programmatically based on theoretical and tactical unity, on responsibility and federalism.[26]

Two reasons mark the misunderstanding of the Platform, especially if the recently discussed contributions of Bakunin and Malatesta are taken into account.

Regarding Bakunin, ignorance of his texts on the Alliance has prevented appreciating the similarities between his conception of political organization and that of the Platform. With respect to Malatesta, it must be said that the partial dissemination and excessive focus on part of his mail exchange with Makhno about the Platform—specifically the first letter sent by the Italian—has impeded a clearer understanding of his positions.

There is a third reason, in addition, which has to do with sectors that have set the standard for debate in the world, establishing a version that many researchers and militants hold: A significant part of the discussion about the Platform has been monopolized by an interpretation that is dominant in European anarchism in general, particularly French, and which is mostly critical of the Platform.

Next we present elements for the discussion on these three relevant questions, in order to contribute to solidifying our position.
Bakunin and the fundamentals of the Platform

We agree with researchers such as Frank Mintz when they argue that the Platform, rather than introduce a new organizational debate among anarchists, takes up fundamental elements of the Bakuninist strategy.[27] In this sense, Van der Walt correctly states that “Makhno and Archinov explicitly related the Platform to the Bakunin heritage.” Quoting Colin Darch on the makhnovitchina, he states:

Bakunin’s “aspirations concerning organizations, as well as his activity in the First International give us every right” to view him as an “active partisan” of the idea that anarchism “must gather its forces in one organization, constantly agitating, as demanded by reality and the strategy of class struggle.”[28]

Fundamental elements found in the Platform are certainly tributaries of Bakunin, among them the social critique of capitalist and statist domination and the centrality of class struggle, the need for the simultaneous intervention of anarchists at both levels, anarchist organization and mass movements (organizational dualism), the need for a violent social revolution, and in general libertarian socialism as a proposal for a future society.

In a more detailed analysis, as much as we can find differences, there are similarities in the main lines. The federalist functioning of the anarchist organization, without hierarchy or domination among the members, and its complementary relationship with mass movements, are also characteristic elements that allow Bakunin to be related to the Platform. This is not the time to do so, but it would not be very difficult to establish with substance and detail this whole series of parallels.

According to this analysis and what we have mentioned above, far from innovating, the Platform simply proposed a “return”—adapted to a concrete historical context—to the Bakuninist organizational strategy of the post-1867 period. We should recall that this model took shape, in theoretical and practical terms, in other circumstances, in the most diverse times and locations, the Platform being only one of them. For this reason, we understand that the qualifier platformist —beyond having the merit of differentiating, among anarchists, a particular organizational strategy—can be easily substituted by others that refer to other authors and experiences, some of which occurred during the first great wave of anarchism in the world.

Malatesta, the Platform and Synthesis

Analyzing the controversy around the Platform,[29] in which the debate between Makhno and Malatesta stands out, the proximity between Malatesta and the Platform is not as obvious as it is with Bakunin. According to what we have indicated, if we take into account the more than six decades of Malatesta’s anarchist militancy, we can understand that at certain times his positions are closer to those of the Platform and in others to the Anarchist Synthesis.[30]

Texts such as those published in 1897 in L’Agitazione, especially “Organization I” and “Organization II”[31], and compilations such as Anarchist Ideology,[32] allow us to identify positions quite similar to that of the Platform. However, texts such as “Communism and Individualism”[33] and “Individualism and Communism in Anarchism”[34], as well as Malatesta’s interventions at the Anarchist Congress in Amsterdam in 1907,[35] show positions much closer to Synthesis.

In his texts closest to Synthesis, Malatesta criticizes the fact that “anarchists of various tendencies, despite wanting basically the same thing, find themselves in their daily lives and in their propaganda in fierce opposition to each other.” Based on this criticism, Malatesta defends the need to “reach some understanding” and that “when agreement is not possible [it is necessary] to know how to tolerate each other. Work together when there is consensus and when there is not, allow others to do what they consider best, without interference”[36]. This should be the case, since “individualist and communist anarchism is one and the same thing — or almost,” “there are no fundamental differences”[37].

At the Amsterdam congress, trying to mediate between the positions of syndicalist anarchists and others with individualist influences, Malatesta affirms that “cooperation is indispensable, today more than ever. Without doubt, the association must allow individual members complete autonomy and the federation must respect this same autonomy for its groups.” If on the one hand, he says, it is understood that it is “wrong to present the ‘organizationists’, the federalists, as authoritarians, [on the other hand] it is equally wrong to imagine that the ‘anti-organizationists’, the individualists, have to be deliberately condemned to isolation.” In short, Malatesta believed that the dispute between individualists and organizationists was a “simple dispute of words”[38].

These and other positions allow authors to correctly claim that Malatesta “flirted with the synthesist position on some occasions”[39]. But it is necessary to acknowledge that there are also times when he defends quite different positions.

The debate between Makhno and Malatesta: necessary clarification

With regard to the debate between Makhno and Malatesta on the Platform,[40] Malatesta’s positions are also modified throughout the debate, hampered by issues of text comprehension and mutual comprehension. There are some aspects relative to context that should be pointed out: the fact that Malatesta was on house arrest and quite removed from anarchist discussions; the problem of translation of the Platform, done by Volin, one of its greatest opponents, who “adjusted” it to his point of view through a series of terminological choices;[41] ​​a certain difference of evaluation of anarchism at that moment, which the Russians considered much more critically than Malatesta and, consequently, they saw more need for a significant change in their organizational patterns. Their critical position is related to the historical experience of Russian-Ukrainian anarchism, since their progress and defeats contributed to reinforcing their conviction on the importance of the specific anarchist organization and of its fundamental axes.[42] We will discuss some questions on this debate that we consider necessary to address in more depth.

First of all, it makes sense to clear any doubts about our position: for us, Malatesta as well as Makhno and other Russians who wrote the Platform are anarchists, considering a historical and global approach to anarchism. Both positions can be more or less historically identified in various anarchist authors and episodes. Mainly in his first letter, Malatesta exaggerates and commits misunderstandings when criticizing the Platform. There is no justification for a statement like the one in which he says that the Platform is “typically authoritarian” and does not constitute a document of anarchism, but rather “a Government, a Church,” which Makhno simply refused to comment on due to its degree of absurdity. Malatesta also hints that the Platform admits that “to organize means to submit to leaders and belong to an authoritarian, centralizing body that suffocates any attempt at free initiative.”[43] For us, there is no doubt that the Platform is anarchist, it does not bear any relation with governments, churches or any other type of authoritarianism, fits without difficulty into the historical tradition of anarchism and does not assume, as its detractors said from the beginning, a Bolshevik detour.

Second, there are unquestionable similarities between the positions of Makhno and Malatesta. They both agree, for example, in the need for anarchists to organize themselves in a revolutionary political organization (a “General Union” for the first, an “Anarchist Party” for the second). They are also in agreement —despite terminological divergences[44]— on their conception of organization as a promoter of their ideas and practices among the masses (that’s why they use terms like “influence,” “orientation,” “suggestion,” even “direction”) and as guiding the direction of struggles and workers’ movements towards social revolution and socialism or communism libertarian. Malatesta says:

I believe that we, anarchists, convinced of the validity of our programme, must strive to acquire overwhelming influence in order to draw the movement towards the realization of our ideals. But such influence must be won by doing more and better than others, and will only be useful if won in that way.[45]

In this same sense, Makhno asserts that “anarchism is a revolutionary social doctrine that must inspire the exploited and oppressed”[46] in the struggles for social transformation, and as the Platform proposes, it must make “revolutionary anarchist positions” penetrate into the movements of “workers and peasants,” to become a “pioneer” and “theoretical guide” of popular organizations in the city and countryside.[47] The Supplement to the Platform affirms that the tools to influence the masses should be “propaganda, force of argument, and spoken and written persuasion”[48].

Third, it should be noted that two of Malatesta’s criticisms of the Platform are completely misplaced: the idea that the Russians were proposing a hierarchical organization and that the Executive Committee (despite its name, which indicates that it executes and not that it deliberates) should control the decisions of the organization.

It was not for nothing that Makhno was surprised by Malatesta’s first text and told him: “My impression is that… you have misunderstood the project for the ‘Platform’.”[49] Let us agree that it is true to some extent.

The Platform is clear about the functions of the Executive Committee:

The execution of decisions taken by the Union with which it is entrusted; the theoretical and organisational orientation of the activity of isolated organisations consistent with the theoretical positions and the general tactical line of the Union; the monitoring of the general state of the movement; the maintenance of working and organisational links between all the organisations in the Union; and with other organisations.[50]

It is, according to our point of view, a type of secretariat that guides the decisions made by the base of the organization.

The proposed organizational form is federalist, built by the base, from the bottom up, so that it reconciles “the independence and initiative of individuals and the organisation with service to the common cause.” However, so that “shared decisions”—that is, socialized among the whole membership and established collectively—can be carried out, federalism demands that members “undertake fixed organisation duties, and demands execution of communal decisions”[51].

There is nothing in the Platform or in documents related to it that allows for linking it with an organizational model based on hierarchy and domination (internal or with respect to the masses) or that allows for conceiving the Executive Committee as a type of central committee that would decide the direction of the General Union.

The debate between Makhno and Malatesta: real divergences

At this point we will identify issues that, taking into account the entire debate, constitute real disagreements between the two militants. The question that undoubtedly occupied most of the debate was the question of collective responsibility. At first, for Malatesta the idea that there was mutual responsibility between militant and organization (“the entire Union will be responsible for the political and revolutionary activity of each member; in the same way, each member will be responsible for the political and revolutionary activity of the Union as a whole”[52]) constituted an “absolute denial of all individual independence, all freedom, all freedom of initiative and action”[53]. In this text, for Malatesta responsibility means autonomy and independence of individuals and groups: “Full autonomy, full independence and, therefore, full responsibility of individuals and groups”[54].

In his first reply, Makhno claims that Malatesta always accepted the individual responsibility of anarchist militants: “You yourself, dear Malatesta, recognize the individual responsibility of the anarchist revolutionary.”[55] His rejection of collective responsibility would be, according to Makhno, “without basis” and would be “dangerous for the social revolution”[56]. Makhno further relates collective responsibility to the question of anarchist ideological influence on the masses:

The collective spirit of its militants and their collective responsibility will allow modern anarchism to eliminate from its circles the idea, historically false, that anarchism cannot be a guide—either ideologically or in practice—for the mass of workers in a revolutionary period and therefore could not have overall responsibility.[57]

Archinov, for his part, supporting Makhno’s positions and criticizing Malatesta, reinforces the sense of collective responsibility in the following way:

The practical activity of a member of the organization is found in full harmony with general activity and, inversely, the activity of the whole organization cannot be in contradiction with the conscience and activity of anyone of its members, provided that you have accepted the program on which the organization is based.[58]

The idea is that an anarchist organization cannot be founded if not on this principle, in the sense that the member “could not carry out his political and revolutionary work if not in the political spirit of the Union […] his activity could not be contrary to that which was developed by all its members”[59].

In the following response, Malatesta is still standing his ground, going so far as to relate collective responsibility with governments, the military that kill rebel soldiers or the armies that decimate populations in invasions—another completely out of place comparison, from our point of view—noting:

I accept and support the view that anyone who associates and cooperates with others for a common purpose must feel the need to coordinate his actions with those of his fellow members and do nothing that harms the work of others and, thus, the common cause; and respect the agreements that have been made, except when wishing sincerely to leave the association when emerging differences of opinion or changed circumstances or conflict over preferred methods make cooperation impossible or inappropriate. Just as I maintain that those who do not feel and do not practice that duty should be thrown out of the association.[60]

Malatesta complements his criticism by saying that “perhaps, speaking of collective responsibility, you mean precisely that accord and solidarity that must exist among the members of an association” and emphasizing that, if this were the case, “agreement would soon be reached”[61].

In the following response, Makhno once again affirms that “anarchist action on a wide scale will only achieve its goals if it possesses a well-defined organizational base, inspired and guided by the principle of the collective responsibility of its militants”[62].

Some time later, Malatesta would go on to affirm that responsibility is essentially individual: “Moral responsibility (and in our case we can talk of nothing but moral responsibility) is individual by its very nature.” Adding: “If a number of men agree to do something and one of them allows the initiative to fail through not carrying out what he had promised, everyone will say that it was his fault and that therefore it is he who is responsible, not those who did what they were supposed to right up to the last.”[63]

In sum, it can be said that there are points of agreement and others of divergence in this controversy between Malatesta and the editors of Dielo Trudá. Malatesta does not relent when it comes to the idea that responsibility is essentially individual, although he understands the need for coordinated actions and agreement and respect for these actions and pacts on the part of the members of an anarchist organization. For Makhno and Archinov, responsibility is individual and collective at the same time, it necessarily binds the militant and the organization, making them responsible to each other, and it has to do with the guiding role of anarchism in the revolutionary process. As Malatesta himself notes, the notion of collective responsibility and the position of full independence and autonomy that he himself defends are incompatible.[64]

Another divergence has to do with the greater or lesser need for unification (homogeneity) of anarchists. While the Russians advocate that the anarchist organization must bring together the majority, if not the entire organized and revolutionary sector of anarchists—emphasizing “the great need for an organization that [brings together] most of the participants in the anarchist movement”[65]—, Malatesta affirms: “Let us therefore abandon the idea of ​​bringing together all [the anarchists] in a single organization.” For the Russians fragmentation was the central problem, something that doesn’t seem to be that essential for Malatesta.

There are also very important differences in terms of organization—that is, to the organic functioning of the anarchist grouping—which includes the level of commitment and autonomy of the members and groups that belong to the organization in relation to collective decisions and the decision-making method of deliberation. For Makhno and the Russians, action with a clear strategy and program was fundamental, which, in addition to anarchist principles, established a common and unitary path for the organization as a whole: “such a role [of anarchists in a revolution] can only be played successfully when our Party is ideologically homogeneous and unified from the point of view of tactics”[66]. He further states that “our Party must […] make clear its political unity and organizational character”[67], in a position similar to what Archinov called “homogeneous theoretical and practical program”[68], a form of collective deliberation with binding decision for all its members.

For Malatesta, members and groups of the organization had to have the most complete autonomy and decisions should not be mandatory, but only recommendations that may or may not be followed: “full autonomy, full independence and, therefore, full responsibility of individuals and groups,” so that the decisions of the organization’s congresses “are not mandatory rules but suggestions, recommendations, proposals.” Malatesta even goes so far as to elevate this position—according to our point of view related to organizational strategy—to a principle of anarchism, when he emphasizes the “principles of autonomy and free initiative which the anarchists profess,” certainly a doubtful conclusion from a historical point of view.[69]

Archinov asks: “What would be the value of a congress that only issued ‘opinions’ and did not take charge of making them come true? None. In a vast movement [like anarchism], a solely moral and non-organizational responsibility loses all its value”[70]. Indirectly, the previously discussed issue of collective responsibility comes up again.

When it comes to matters related to the program of anarchist organization, Malatesta relates them more to anarchist principles than to a well-defined strategy. Unlike what he does in the texts of 1897, he goes so far as to affirm that the anarchist party is “the group of those who are on the same side, who have the same general aspirations, who in one way or another fight for the same end against common adversaries and enemies”[71]. Which is to say that the party would be formed by the “partisans” of anarchism, almost automatically, by the simple fact of existing.

Makhno and the Russians advocate that for the formation of a coherent strategy and program for the anarchist organization, in case of divergence in positions, majority voting would be adopted and the result of the deliberations would be binding for the entire organization, which consequently must apply them. This applies provided members decide to remain in the organization, since the right to a split is given.

Malatesta criticizes decision-making by majority and proposes that differences are voluntarily readjusted, by means of some type of consensus-dissent, and says that the good sense of militancy should lead it to contribute positively to the dynamics of organizational activities: “an adaptation [that] must be reciprocal, voluntary and derive from the awareness of the need to not paralyze social life by mere stubbornness.”[72] For him, this means working with a broad program, around anarchist principles, that allows each member and group of the organization to carry out any action that in practice they judge will contribute to that program.

Malatesta, closer to the Synthesis or the Platform?

As the complete works of Malatesta are not yet published, not even in Italian, we will have to wait until that happens to be able to deepen the discussion on the positions of Malatesta and be able to decide which were in the majority, which were in the minority, to what extent the positions adopted are related to certain periods of his life, etc. For the moment, we can conclude that, according to what has been said, his positions are varied and allow different interpretations: particularly in reference to the Platform-Synthesis debate, we have already demonstrated that it is possible to link his positions without great difficulty to one or the other camp depending on the texts and extracts taken into consideration.
Debate: historical impact of the Platform and the dominance of the Synthesis interpretation

The distrust of a large part of anarchists in relation to the elements that culminated in the formalization of the Platform began in 1923, shortly after the publication of Archinov’s book, History of the Makhnovist movement.[73] Distrust spread rapidly in anarchist networks.

Marc Mrachny, a former member of the Nabat organization who spent a few days with the Makhnovists, in June 1923 published a series of criticisms of them in the newspaper Via Obrera, an organ of the Russian anarcho-syndicalists published in Berlin. Mrachny said that the role of Makhno had been overrated by some anarchists to the detriment of the working class and that the makhnovitchina had constituted a kind of “military anarchism.” In the same issue of the magazine, he himself wrote a review of Archinov’s book, which had caused some discomfort due to his criticism of certain “intellectual” sectors of the anarchist movement.[74] The last chapter of Archinov’s book, entitled “The makhnovitchina and anarchism,” develops some questions that will later be deepened by members of Dielo Trudá and laid out in the Platform. Perhaps it can be said that this contribution is at the origin of what years later would become the Platform.[75]

In March 1924 the anarchist Judoley pejoratively compared the Russian anarchists for the first time with left-wing socialists, who act through a hierarchical political organization. In another critical article, written by Eugène Dolinin (Moravsky), Ukraine’s free soviets are considered a form of state, which “should be fine for ‘the most honest Bolshevik Marxists, but not for anarchists.” To Archinov’s criticism that a considerable part of the anarchists did not participate in the uprising in Ukraine, Moravsky replied that “anarchism cannot rely on bayonets but on the spiritual product of humanity.”[76] As we can see, criticisms of the makhnovitchina, a phenomenon that arose out of the Ukrainian popular struggle and of the anarchists of that region, are generally the result of a misinterpretation and reflect an ignorance not only of the historical episode in question, but even of anarchism itself. These critics were wrong when they tried to disassociate the Makhnovists from the anarchist tradition, by virtue of the use of revolutionary violence, since that has been used by practically all anarchists who have been involved in revolutionary episodes in history. This has to do with violence that has been at the same time a tool of resistance against attacks from its multiple enemies and to promote the anarchist revolutionary program. To these and other criticisms of the Makhnovist movement Archinov and Makhno responded in long articles. They were responsible for causing unpleasant polemics within international anarchism, especially European anarchism.

Criticisms of anarchist intellectual sectors were not exclusive to Archinov. Anatol Gorelik—a Russian anarchist who went into exile in Argentina in 1922 and contributed from Buenos Aires to Dielo Trudá—published in June of the same year, Anarchists in the Russian Revolution. Beyond an overview of events in Russia, Gorelik criticized the anarchist intellectuals who had isolated themselves from the workers’ movement.[77]

With the publication of the Platform in 1926 it was possible to deepen the debate that had been taking place in relation to the Russian and Ukrainian revolutionary process and the written contributions of its members, and above all its defenders were able to concretize their own organizational project in better conditions.

A deep debate about anarchist organization, possibly the largest in history, took place until the early thirties of the twentieth century. Not only did Makhno and Malatesta participate, so did Archinov, Volin, Luigi Fabbri, Camilo Berneri, Sébastien Faure, Maria Isidin, Gregori Maximoff, among others. While the members of Dielo Trudá explained and deepened the lines of the Platform, other anarchists tended to criticize it. As in the Makhno-Malatesta debate, some of these criticisms denoted real differences and others were due to misunderstandings or outright gross nonsense.[78]

Among the absurdities were the positions of Volin and other synthesists, who in 1927 claimed that the Platform constituted a “revisionism in the direction of Bolshevism, which the authors hide”[79]. Despite being unfounded, several anarchists and scholars of anarchism followed them and adopted this position.

In their attempt to concretize the organizational project, in 1927 the anarchists of Dielo Trudá launched a call for the constitution of an international federation following the bases of the Platform. With the aim of organizing an international conference that same year, on February 5, 1927, they held a preliminary meeting in Paris in which militants from Bulgaria, China, Spain, France, Italy, Poland and Russia participated. From that meeting came a provisional commission made up of the Chinese anarchist Chen, the Ukrainian Makhno and the Polish Ranko, and various circulars were sent to various anarchist groups.

From the international conference, which also took place in Paris on April 20, 1927, some agreements emerged: the recognition of the class struggle as the most important aspect of the anarchist idea, anarcho-communism as the basis of the movement and syndicalism as the main method of struggle; the recognition of the need for a general organization of anarchists based on tactical and ideological unity and collective responsibility; and the need for a program for social revolution.

The conference suffered a major setback: the police assaulted and arrested everyone present, and only thanks to a campaign by French anarchists, Makhno was not deported. Also, many groups, even the conference participants, did not try to or failed to carry out the resolutions that had been adopted.[80]

Still, the conference yielded some practical results. In France, platformists were responsible for the transformation of the Anarchist Communist Union into the Anarchist Communist Revolutionary Union in 1927 and managed to make their positions the majority in the organization, which lasted three years. They also created the Libertarian Communist Federation, which existed between 1934 and 1936.[81] Of shorter existence was the Italian Anarchist Communist Union, also created by platformists. Apart from these, the most relevant experience of the period took place in Bulgaria, when the Federation of Anarchist Communists of Bulgaria (FAKB), founded in 1919, adopted the Platform after it was published and used it ever since to guide their political practice. The Bulgarian platformist experience can be considered one of the great episodes of anarchism between the 1920s and 1940s; in fact, it contributed to a considerable mass movement with rural and urban syndicalism, cooperatives, guerrillas and great youth mobilization.[82] The Platform of the Federation of Anarchist Communists of Bulgaria, published in 1945, reflects the direct influence of the Platform and addresses “crucial questions in terms of tactics and organization and reflects the form of organization in political party,” orienting a movement that “had significant clarity to defend against the Bolsheviks” but it was decimated by Stalinism and by fascism.[83]

This debate resurfaced strongly among anarchists after World War II, most significantly in France and Italy. The Platform influenced both the French Libertarian Communist Federation Fédération Communiste Libertaire and the Italian Anarchist Groups of Proletarian Action Gruppi Anarchici d’Azione Proletaria, groups of the 1950s that coordinated in a libertarian communist international of platform inspiration.[84]

Regarding the consequences of the organizational debate, the case of the French-Francophone Anarchist Federation Fédération Anarchiste was the most emblematic. Founded in 1945, the FAF took as its organizational foundation the Synthesis of Sébastien Faure and had different tendencies within it: individualists, humanists, trade unionists, libertarian communists, among others.[85] Starting in 1950, a trend led by George Fontenis and influenced by the Platform began to function without the knowledge of others and founded the Organization Thought Battle Organisation Pensée Bataille, a secret organization whose objective was to give the FAF a revolutionary leadership, driving away those opposed to the class struggle and social anarchism.[86]

In the three years after its founding, the OPB grew in influence and in 1953, at the Paris congress, now without many of its members, under the influence of the platformists the FAF became the Libertarian Communist Federation (FCL) and adopted as a programmatic document the Libertarian Communist Manifesto of Fontenis, also inspired by the Platform.[87] Its existence was relatively short and between 1956 and 1957 the FCL ceased its activities, mainly because of the Algerian war of independence in 1954—in which its militants got involved—repression, the rise of the French Communist Party and its own mistakes.[88]

This process caused immense trauma, especially due to the exclusion of members of the FAF, including its founders, and because of the way in which the OPB was constituted and made use of its ideas. By the end of 1953, the FAF was reconstituted by rekindling synthetist positions and the dispute with the FCL dragged on to its end.[89] In addition to the incorporation of theoretical elements of Marxism, such as dialectical materialism,[90] an already controversial issue, the FCL was involved in very complicated episodes. The first took place in 1955, with the decision to present candidates for the 1956 electoral campaign, an effort that was subsequently the object of self-criticism by its own members and that at the time earned criticism from both synthesists and important platformist sectors, like those who later formed the Anarchist Groups of Revolutionary Action Grupos Anarquistas de Acción Revolucionaria and the newspaper Rojo y Negro. The second was proximity with André Marty, candidate in the 1956 elections together with Fontenis and others from the FCL. Marty was a former member of the French Communist Party who during the Spanish Revolution had been responsible for the International Brigades and had ordered the slaughter of dozens of anarchists.[91]

In Italy, the formation of Anarchist Groups of Proletarian Action (GAAP) was carried out by a platformist sector of the Italian Anarchist Federation. Expelled in 1950, this sector—who criticized the reformism and idealism of its organization of origin and advocated the creation of an anarchist party inspired by the Platform—acted as GAAP until 1956, the year in which it merged with Marxist groups to form Communist Action, a far-left sector of the Italian Communist Party that subsequently contributed to the creation of the Movement of the Communist Left.[92]

Be that as it may, both French and Italian platformism have had further developments and influenced organizations up to the present, the vast majority of which are inscribed in the anarchist camp.

It is not difficult to demonstrate the consequences of the analyzes of French and Italian platformists of that period and of the generalization of its postulates in all sectors of anarchism inspired by organizational dualism in general and in the Platform in particular. Despite the virtues of the projects in question—there is no doubt about the theoretical and practical relevance of some of the contributions of the French and Italian platformists of the 1950s—it seems clear that a significant part of them, especially the FCL and the GAAP, brought serious problems. The mode of formation and action of the OPB, the position in favor of elections and the proximity to an authoritarian communist of the stature of Marty of the FCL and the fusion of the GAAP with the Marxists are examples that, although they responded to a specific context, broke with the anarchist principles and strategy enunciated in the Platform.

Without a doubt, they armed the adversaries of the Platform with powerful arguments. As we have seen, the controversy surrounding the Platform was already complicated in its time and since its publication it was accused of Bolshevik deviation by its detractors. The French and Italian cases reinforced these criticisms.

By refraining from making a less ideological analysis of the Platform, comparing its fundamental elements with anarchist classics and ignoring the case of Bulgarian platformism,[93] the Synthesists ended up generalizing these examples—especially the so-called “Fontenis case” [L’affaire Fontenis] in France—and turned them into paradigmatic examples of the modus operandi of platformism.

This is how the argument was constituted that very often equates Bakuninist[94] and platformist organizational dualism to a kind of Marxist and/or Bolshevik deviation from anarchism, to a kind of anarcho-Bolshevism. The dominant interpretation of the Platform exercised by the French synthesists and the dissemination that its argumentation reached—orally and in writing—explain that such positions will be uncritically consolidated by the world between researchers and militants.

Concluding

Although organizational dualism has not been defended by the majority organizationist anarchists, it has representatives of unquestionable importance and magnitude among anarchists: Bakunin, Malatesta and the editors of Dielo Trudá, among them Makhno and Archinov.

Toward the end of the 1860s, Bakunin carried out a theoretical and practical praxis that includes the Alliance and International Workingmen’s Association and contributes decisively to the debate on anarchist political organization. In our view, his positions constitute the fundamentals of the Dielo Trudá Platform. Malatesta also held positions close to the Platform, although, as we have seen, this does not occur in all his writings on the subject: it is not only about differences with respect to some issues of the Platform, but also that at distinct moments he comes close to the Synthesis position.

Taking into account the role of Bakunin and Malatesta in anarchism and that of figures like Makhno and Archinov, it is not very fair to equate their positions with some kind of Leninist or Bolshevik deviation and an alleged anarcho-Bolshevism. Logically, to claim that the Platform contains authoritarian positions implies ascribing responsibility for this to Bakunin. And yet it seems quite evident that both are anarchists and that their positions about the anarchist political organization are fully reconcilable with their other positions.

From the analysis of the debate between Malatesta on the one hand and Makhno and Archinov on the other, we can conclude the following: there is no doubt that the positions in question are anarchist and that they share the opinion on the need to organize anarchists on two levels—as workers in popular mass movements and as anarchists in revolutionary political organizations— and on the duty of anarchists to influence workers in general as much as possible. At the same time, we consider Malatesta’s criticisms misplaced, which claimed that the Platform is proposing a hierarchical model of organization and that the executive committee proposed by them would have the function of controlling decisions of the organization.

Be that as it may, we can at least identify three real differences between Malatesta and Makhno and Archinov on the following issues: individual and collective responsibility; fragmentation and the need for union of anarchists; level of autonomy and independence of individuals and groups in the anarchist organization. If for Malatesta responsibility is essentially individual, for Makhno and Archinov it is both individual and collective, so that it binds the militant and the organization at the same time. If for Malatesta the fragmentation of anarchists is not a problem of the first order, for Makhno and Archinov it urgently needs to be overcome in order to allow the union of as many anarchists as possible, provided they are in accordance with the organization’s program and strategy. If for Malatesta individuals should have the widest autonomy and independence in groups and these groups in the federations, to Makhno and Archinov unity of action is fundamental, even if it requires a majority vote.

Finally, we must add that for us there is a nexus between certain positions of Bakunin, Malatesta and the Platform that have made it possible to develop a powerful theory of anarchist political organization and that these have served as inspiration for important political experiences. In the specific case of the Platform, it inspired a considerable set of anarchist political practices but, as we have seen, the French and Italian experiences of the 1950s, despite their virtues, offered elements for the argument of “Bolshevik deviation” that had been sustained since the Platform was published. Considering the ideologicalized analysis of the debate and the cases in question, in addition to the dominance of the French interpretation, we can get an idea of ​​why the Platform has been considered as a Bolshevik element of anarchism or even something foreign to the anarchist tradition. We have tried to show that this has no foundation.

Although there are reports about the reception of Dielo Trudá by Russian anarchists who were in Rio Grande do Sul,[95] it seems that in Brazil the Platform was not discussed even at that time nor in subsequent decades. Although there were different anarchist positions throughout the twentieth century which bear similarities to those outlined in the Platform,[96] it was not until the end of the decade 1990 and early 2000 that the text had been read, translated and discussed by Brazilian militants.[97] Those who have led the debate are the militants involved in especifismo anarchism, influenced by the Uruguayan Anarchist Federation, who without knowing the Platform at the time of its formation, reached quite similar conceptions via Bakunin and Malatesta.

Without a doubt, reflection on the Platform should not be taken as an inflexible guide for structuring a political organization. But to reject it on the false argument that it is an “authoritarian deviation” from anarchism or that its contributions should be confined to a specific context is to ignore all the political debates before and after this document, which link the organizational discussion to a long central thread. We understand that it is possible to advance the debate on anarchist political organization if we do it jointly with other contributions, both theoretical and practical, among others those of Bakunin and Malatesta. To continue working on deepening this debate seems to us an urgent need.

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Notes

[1] Felipe Corrêa and Rafael Viana da Silva, “Introduction à l’édition francophone.”

[2] This claim is also supported by the studies mentioned above (Corrêa, Van der Walt, De Laforcade, Viana da Silva). On organizational dualism in theory and practice see the previous chapter “Organizational Issues within Anarchism.”

[3] Mikhail Bakunin, Bakounine: Oeuvres Complètes [CD-ROM]. Amsterdam: International Institute of Social History (IISH), 2000.

[4] Gaston Leval, Bakunin: fundador do sindicalismo revolucionário.

[5] See for example: René Berthier, “Bakounine: une théorie de l’organisation” and “Postface.”

[6] In recent decades, the silencing by French anarchists of Bakunin’s work is remarkable, especially with regard to the question of anarchist political organization. Virtually none of the numerous programs of the Alliance were included in the published books of this anarchist. Perhaps this question can be explained by following the hypothesis that René Berthier put forward in a talk in 2014 in Brazil. For him, for a long time the French linked Bakunin to Marxism under the umbrella of a so-called “libertarian Marxism,” defended by Daniel Guérin. Thus it can be explained, according to him, that a magazine like Itinéraire, which dedicated its issues to the “great anarchists” of history, does not have any issue on Bakunin. It is Berthier himself who, to a certain extent, along with other researchers and activists, has taken up the discussion about Bakunin’s work.

[7] Mikhail Bakunin, “Letter to Morago (May 21st, 1872).” On the Alliance, see Felipe Corrêa, Liberdade ou Morte: teoria e prática de Mikhail Bakunin, chapters 10 and 13.

[8] Mikhail Bakunin, “Letter to Cerretti (March 13–27, 1872).”

[9] Mikhail Bakunin, “Statuts secrets de l’Alliance: Programme et objet de l’organisation révolutionnaire des Frères internationaux,” “Letter to Cerretti (March 13–27, 1872)”and “Letter to Morago (May 21st, 1872).”

[10] Mikhail Bakunin, “Statuts secrets de l’Alliance: Programme et objet de l’organisation révolutionnaire des Frères internationaux” y “Statuts secrets de l’Alliance: Programme de la Société de la Révolution Internationale.”

[11] Mikhail Bakunin, “Letter to Morago (May 21st, 1872).”

[12] It should be noted that during his long anarchist career, which spans more than sixty years, Malatesta defended different positions on anarchist political organization. If in some cases it is close to Bakunin’s conceptions and, as we will argue, to those of the Platform, in other cases his positions are more related to the Synthesis. It should also be noted that the term “party,” used by Malatesta in this period, must be placed in its historical context. It is a term that anarchists will gradually abandon, especially after the Russian Revolution, when it becomes more directly linked to Bolshevism and other initiatives to conquer the state, either through revolution or electorally.

[13] Errico Malatesta, “A organização II.”

[14] Errico Malatesta, “A organização II” and “Enfim. O que é a ‘ditadura do proletariado’,” p. 87.

[15] Errico Malatesta, “Ação e disciplina,” p. 24.

[16] Errico Malatesta, “A organização II,” p. 62.

[17] Errico Malatesta, “La propaganda anarquista,” pp. 170–172.

[18] Errico Malatesta, “Programa anarquista,” p. 14.

[19] Errico Malatesta, Ideología anarquista, p. 193.

[20] Ibid.

[21] Ibid., p. 31.

[22] Errico Malatesta, “Programa anarquista,” p. 26.

[23] Although the Leninist party form is described in 1902 in Lenin’s work, What is to be done?, the model will not be internationally divulged until after the Russian Revolution of 1917.

[24] Vladimir I. Lenin, O que fazer?

[25] Any serious researcher would be horrified to hear this characterization of the members of Dielo Trudá. In the 2014 talk mentioned, for example, researcher René Berthier (who is also a member of a synthesist organization) was clear and emphatic when he heard it from another synthesist stating: “That does not exist.”

[26] Dielo Trudá, “Plataforma Organizacional dos Comunistas Libertários.”

[27] Frank Mintz, “Contexto de la Plataforma.”

[28] Lucien van der Walt, Black Flame […], p. 256.

[29] Many of the texts on the debate can be found on the Nestor Makhno Archive: http://www.nestormakhno.info. Among the anarchists who contributed to this broad debate are: Malatesta, Makhno and the The Platform’s own authors —Piotr Archinov, Ida Mett, Jean Walecki, Benjamin Goldberg (Ranko)—in addition to Gregori Maximoff, Volin, Senya Fleshin, Camilo Berneri, Luigi Fabbri, Sébastien Faure and Maria Isidin, among others. For a full compilation of the interventions in this debate, see Felipe Corrêa (ed.), “Dossiê A Plataforma Organizacional”: https://ithanarquista.wordpress.com/plataforma-organizacional.

[30] There are two homonymous historical texts that, although they have have significant differences, theoretically ground the “anarchist synthesis”: Sébastien Faure, “A sintese anarquista,” and Volin, “A sintese anarquista.”

[31] Errico Malatesta, “A organização I” and “A organização II.”

[32] Errico Malatesta, Ideología anarquista.

[33] Errico Malatesta, “Communism and Individualism.”

[34] Errico Malatesta, “Individualism and Communism in Anarchism.”

[35] Maurizio Antonioli (ed.) The International Anarchist Congress: Amsterdam (1907).

[36] Errico Malatesta, “Individualism and Communism in Anarchism,” pp. 14–18.

[37] Ibid., pp. 19–21.

[38] Errico Malatesta, “Intervention, 6th session,” p. 96.

[39] Lucien van der Walt, Black Flame […], p. 250.

[40] The debate was reflected in the correspondence between the two: Errico Malatesta, “Um projeto de organização anarquista” and “Resposta de Malatesta a Nestor Makhno,” and Nestor Makhno, “Reposta a “Um projeto de organização anarquista” and “Uma segunda carta a Malatesta.” Malatesta’s article “A propósito da responsabilidade coletiva” can also be useful.

[41] Alexandre Skirda, a Russian translator who, in addition to participating in the political debate, was in charge of the publication of the new translation of the Platform into French, says about the original translation: “Let us remember that Volin’s first translation was described as ‘vile and boring’ and its author accused of not being ‘careful to adapt the terminology and phrases to the spirit of the French movement’ (Le Libertaire, 106, 04/15/1927). We investigated what these accusations could refer to and found, indeed, several consciously distorted terms: napravlenie, which means both ‘direction’ and ‘orientation’, was consistently used in the former sense. The same occurs with the term rukovodstvo, which means ‘conduct’ and as a derived verb it has the sense of ‘guide, lead, direct, manage’ but it was also systematically translated as ‘direct’. The most flagrant case is that of zatrelchtchik, which appears in the last sentence of the Platform and means ‘instigator’ but Volin translated it as ‘vanguard’. This is how, through light brushstrokes, the deep meaning of a text can be modified.” Alexandre Skirda, Autonomie individuelle et force collective: les anarchistes et l’organisation de Proudhon à nos jours, pp. 245–246.

[42] We can mention the case of the Nabat Confederation, which brought together various anarchist organizations. Although the differences in analysis between historians and anarchists themselves on the organizational conception and anarchism of Nabat do not allow us to know for sure if it was closer to the conception of the Synthesis or the Platform, we can affirm that, along with the experience of the Russian and Ukrainian revolutions, it broadly contributed to the Platform. Piotr Archinov, History of the Makhnovist Movement.

[43] Errico Malatesta, “Um projeto de organização anarquista.”

[44] The discussion between Malatesta and Makhno got very complicated due to terminological problems, to which the issues previously noted on translation contributed.

[45] Errico Malatesta, “Resposta de Malatesta a Nestor Makhno.”

[46] Nestor Makhno, “Uma segunda carta a Malatesta.”

[47] Dielo Trudá, “Plataforma Organizacional dos Comunistas Libertários.”

[48] Dielo Trudá, “Suplemento a la Plataforma Organizativa (Preguntas y respuestas).”

[49] Nestor Makhno, “Resposta a ‘Um projeto de organização anarquista’.”

[50] Dielo Trudá, “Plataforma Organizacional dos Comunistas Libertários.”

[51] Ibid.

[52] Ibid.

[53] Errico Malatesta, “Um projeto de organização anarquista.”

[54] Ibid.

[55] Nestor Makhno, “Resposta a ‘Um projeto de organização anarquista’.”

[56] Ibid.

[57] Ibid.

[58] Piotr Archinov, “O velho e o novo no anarquismo.”

[59] Ibid.

[60] Errico Malatesta, “Resposta de Malatesta a Nestor Makhno.”

[61] Ibid.

[62] Nestor Makhno, “Uma segunda carta a Malatesta.”

[63] Errico Malatesta, “A propósito da responsabilidade coletiva.”

[64] Errico Malatesta, “Resposta de Malatesta a Nestor Makhno.”

[65] Dielo Trudá, “Plataforma Organizacional dos Comunistas Libertários.”

[66] Nestor Makhno, “Uma segunda carta a Malatesta.”

[67] Ibid.

[68] Piotr Archinov, “O velho e o novo no anarquismo.”

[69] Errico Malatesta, “Resposta de Malatesta a Nestor Makhno.”

[70] Piotr Archinov, “O velho e o novo no anarquismo.”

[71] Errico Malatesta, “Um projeto de organização anarquista.”

[72] Ibid.

[73] Piotr Archinov, Historia del movimiento makhnovista.

[74] Alexandre Skirda, “Polémicas en torno del libro de Archinov: Historia del movimiento makhnovista,” p. 232.

[75] Piotr Archinov, “A makhnovitchina e o anarquismo.”

[76] Alexandre Skirda, “Polémicas en torno del libro de Archinov: Historia del movimiento makhnovista,” pp. 233–234.

[77] This and other writings from the author in Frank Mintz (ed.) Anatol Gorelik: el anarquismo en la Revolución Rusa.

[78] As mentioned above, the whole debate can be found in Felipe Corrêa (ed.), “Dossiê A Plataforma Organizacional.”

[79] Volin et al., “Reply to the Platform (Synthesist).”

[80] Nick Heat, “Introdução histórica.”

[81] David Berry, A History of the French Anarchist Movement (1917–1945), pp. 174–176.

[82] Lucien van der Walt, Black Flame […], p. 258.

[83] Michael Schmidt, Anarquismo búlgaro em armas: a linha de massas anarco-comunista, p. 40. The Bulgarian Platform appears in the appendix of this book.

[84] Nick Heat, “Introdução histórica”; José A.G. Danton, “Para pensar el anarquismo desde nuestra realidad: sobre el Manifiesto comunista libertario,” p. 19.

[85] Maurice Joyeux, “L’affaire Fontenis.”

[86] Alexandre Skirda, Autonomie individuelle et force collective: les anarchistes et l’organisation de Proudhon à nos jours, pp. 203–213.

[87] George Fontenis, Manifeste du communisme libertaire.

[88] José A.G. Danton, “Para pensar el anarquismo desde nuestra realidad […],” pp. 19–20.

[89] Maurice Joyeux, “L’affaire Fontenis.”

[90] Alexandre Skirda, Autonomie individuelle et force collective […], p. 343.

[91] “Organisation, pensée, bataille,” in Noir et Rouge. Cahiers d’Études Anarchistes Revolutionnaires: Anthologie 1956–1970; Cédric Guérin, Pensée et action des anarchistes en France: 1956–1970; Maurice Joyeux, “L’affaire Fontenis,” p. 81.

[92] José A.G. Danton, “Para pensar el anarquismo desde nuestra realidad […],” p. 20; Federazione dei Comunisti Anarchici (FdCA), Anarchist communists: a question of class, p. 107.

[93] Bulgarian platformism is quite a different example from the French and Italian cases of the 1950s and became known in France through Balkansky’s publications. See for example this book published even by a group of the French-Francophone Anarchist Federation (FAF): Georges Balkansky, Histoire du mouvement libertaire en Bulgarie.

[94] Let us recall, as we have already pointed out, that the French attributed a certain authoritarian character to an important part of Bakunin’s work.

[95] Edgar Rodrigues, Renato Ramos y Alexandre Samis, Against all tyranny! Essays of anarchism in Brazil, p. 19.

[96] For an analysis of the experiences of the forties and sixties of twentieth century São Paulo and Río de Janeiro, see Rafael Viana da Silva, Elementos inflamáveis: organizações e militância anarquista no Rio de Janeiro e São Paulo (1945–1964).

[97] Dielo Trudá, “Plataforma Organizacional dos Comunistas Libertários.”

__________

Source: https://theanarchistlibrary.org/library/felipe-correa-and-rafael-viana-da-silva-bakunin-malatesta-and-the-platform-debate-the-question

The post Bakunin, Malatesta and the Platform Debate- The question of anarchist political organization appeared first on Void Network.

It’s hard to refute the facts: the home is a site of disproportionate sexual, physical, and mental/emotional harm. It’s a model that serves capitalism by naturalizing the reproductive labor of parenting and home maintenance that enables workers to get ready to go make money for a boss. It becomes an easy out for the state to use in place of actual change — rather than give everyone healthcare, for example, spousal benefits are incentivized; to maintain the barbarousness of borders, marriage is heralded as an upstanding path to crossing them. And as many activist writers have noted: the benefits of marriage destroyed the radical momentum of the gay liberation movement. Relatedly, marriage creates a moral center, which the state weaponizes to construct and punish the outlying “deviants.”

We also know that two people are not enough to raise children, and that, as Sophie Lewis puts it, children are part of a “lottery that drops a neonate arbitrarily among one or two or three or four individuals (of a particular class) and keeps her there for the best part of two decades without her consent.” If you are born into generational wealth and parental mental wellness, you will fare well; the rest of us are expected to pull ourselves out of our conditions by the proverbial bootstraps.

It’s easy for me to get excited about family abolition because the conclusion is a dreamy vision of queer worldmaking. Family abolitionists (usually) don’t say any of us need to give up our blood kin if we don’t want to, but rather that we ought to imagine real community care. That we ought to build the kind of world that doesn’t wed a child’s success to the current financial or emotional state of a couple adults, and one that allows for the work of tending —to our old, our young, our sick — to be a shared task by entire circles of people, not just whoever lives close with shared DNA or legal tethers. It’s ambitious and often out of reach, but, as queer communities have demonstrated for centuries, “chosen family” is possible.

Family abolition has its critics, and not just from the pronatalist, family-values Right. In Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center, bell hooks pushes against the feminist analysis of family as the primary site of oppression as a glaringly white conclusion: “…many black women find the family the least oppressive institution.” Hooks continues: “Devaluation of family life in feminist discussion often reflects the class nature of the movement. Individuals from privileged classes rely on a number of institutional and social structures to affirm and protect their interests. The bourgeois woman can repudiate family without believing that by doing so she relinquishes the possibility of relationship, care, protection. If all else fails, she can buy care.” I write regularly about the way growing up poor taught me more about community care than any radical text, so I’m in firsthand agreement with hooks’ call out here. Not to mention that the idea that the state is motivated to keep families together flies in the face of the experience of poor families (disproportionately families of color) whose children get stolen from them by Child & Family Services, or immigrant families who get torn apart by ICE.

Still, family abolitionists like Lewis, M.E. O’Brien, Shulamith Firestone (and others) are also right: the nuclear household is not a sustainable model.

In addition to being immersed in this literature, this week also brought the following: learning that a student’s undocumented father would not be able to attend her graduation because of the Real ID Act; learning that another student’s parents were refusing to accept their daughter’s gender transition; having a horribly high-conflict experience at a meeting that could generously be described as part of my radical “chosen family”; getting excited to make brunch for my bio-family for Easter; and, feeling legitimately haunted by this image of migrants in New York in an article about the necropolitical hellscape that is the US.

I couldn’t shake this scene. The holding, the head leaning, the exhaustion that found refuge in beloveds’ arms. The love the love the love; the family. That’s all I kept thinking: the love, the family.

I have no conclusion to the mess of this, other than to say the state is the enemy of care. The state is the enemy of love. The state is the enemy of whatever version of family is worth holding onto.

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Written by Raechel Anne Jolie

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