In the clashes between police and demonstrators over the past few days there were hundreds of people who were violently arrested, beaten and abused at the hands of the authorities. In other words there were hundreds of people who you can say, with a degree of certainty, are definitely not cops. It is ironic, if not appropriate, that the police themselves have provided a breeding ground for recruits to an insurrectionary movement. But then, is it not always so? The violence inherent in a system that is based upon exploitation creates the conditions of violent resentment necessary for an uprising, and so the circle turns: revolution.
For those who hadn’t had the misfortune to have been mistreated at the hands of the police, there was always the time-tested technique that has kept so many criminal gangs and secret societies impenetrable to outsiders for so long; an initiation in which a new recruit must commit a criminal act in front of other members of the group. In this case, an act of property destruction against a bank or financial institution would do quite nicely, particularly if the act of destruction would provoke a serious charge from the justice system, such as arson.
And so a spell of deliberately set fires befell the city. Most of the authorities believed that these were the desperate out-lashes of an angry person or persons who’d been agitated by the recent turmoil, whose resolve would soon fade, and who sooner or later would face a jury of their peers. What they did not suspect is that in each blaze a promise was made, a bond was forged in fire, and a network of trustworthy revolutionary criminals was steadily growing right in the midst of the largest police operation in the nations’ history.
There were some, however, who had noticed that these were well planned and coordinated efforts. That there was little evidence, and even fewer arrests. Yet still the blazes burned. There were some who suspected a growing conspiracy of dangerously capable people with little regard for the rule of law, and there were some in a position to do something about it.
Needless to say, counter-security measures should always be considered by anyone who is planning on breaking the law. Wear gloves, be careful about who you talk to, but don’t be so paranoid that you render yourself impotent. Aside from the initiation by fire, there is also the safety of a decentralised autonomous network of cells.
These insurrectionary groups are self-governing and operate side by side in the dark. They communicate strategy through surreptitious statements published in zines and anonymous manifestoes posted on forums online. All cells know that they are not alone in the struggle, and that they fight alongside others with similar values, but they are only vaguely aware of each other’s specific plans and numbers.
Once an affinity group has recruited enough people to be effective, the doors are closed. For those who still want to join the movement but who are still not a member of a group, there’s no office where you go to enlist. The formula is out there: find each other, form a group, make a plan, take action.
And so you find yourself among a tight-knit group of dedicated individuals with a burning resentment for the endemic injustice of the system, and a strong desire to build something more kind, more just and more equitable in its ruins.
Amongst your co-conspirators you all go by pseudonyms. Garlic, Dee, Hobo, Phreak, Bobcat, and Red. Together you sit around a fire by a river, discussing what to do next.
Red, who is a die-hard commie and a bit of a hippy, picks up a stack of hand-photocopied zines
“I swung by the infoshop on the way here and picked through the new arrivals in their library. I figure it would be a good idea to read what other cells are publishing as we consider our first action.”
People who don’t know Red may think they’re a flake, but in fact you find they are one of the most reliable people you know. A hobby historian with a love for literature, they are not surprisingly quite intelligent and insightful.
“Oh, this one’s good: A group called Robin Hood has pulled off several flash mob actions at grocery stores. Check this out, they fill up their carts with food and all at once they leave without paying, then give the food away at impromptu street parties in poor neighbourhoods.”
The brilliant simplicity of this action causes Garlic to laugh out loud
“Now that is well done. I mean it’s quite radical, the statement is immediately recognisable by almost everybody, and it’s even fun for the whole family too,” both healthy and strong, with a great sense of humour and a love for life, Garlic would be easy to get along with if it weren’t for an abrasive wit that turns most people off.
“Of course, the big story that’s blowing up in the news,” you announce to the fire, “is the group who blocked the drainpipes leading from the industrial park. It’s well known to be the source of major pollutants in the watershed. The clever thing about this actions it that the target is one that has already been on the radar of mainstream environmentalists. The Green Earth Society has been campaigning for some time now to clean up the river with little to no effect. Then all of a sudden,” striking your palm against your fist for emphasis, “the culprits are hit by eco-saboteurs and are shut down immediately. It’s a great example of propaganda by deed: direct action gets direct results!”
People around the fire nod their heads in approval. Red sorts through the stack of self-published zines, picks one out and throws the rest in the fire.
“The wimmins fire brigade has released a rather incendiary manifesto in relation to a string of arson attacks on the porn franchise ironically named Red Hot Video. The manifesto states that rape culture is endemic in a society that is rooted in patriarchy, and names Red Hot Video an culprit for perpetuating and even glorifying violence against women. Again, the action targets an institution that is already on the radar of other activists and compels others to take a more hard line approach against misogyny.”
“I like that,” states Bobcat bluntly. “It’s not merely a symbolic act of resistance. Symbolism is about as effective as marching in the streets with a sign, or smashing a window. Maybe it makes you feel good, but at the end of the day it changes nothing.”
“Agreed. The time for symbolic action is over,” speaks Hobo. Hobo lives on the fringes of society, scavenging from the waste of our bourgeois society. They have no footprint, leave no trace, most people would barely even notice they existed. A great asset to a group that wants to fly under the radar. “Just making a statement is not enough. We made a big statement when we took to the streets during the G20 and showed our defiance of their authority by fighting the police. But after the six o’clock news is over, who remembers? It’s just a show.”
“Any action we take should have real life consequences,” you say. “If we’re going to put ourselves at risk, it had better be worth it. It has to make a difference. And like the drainpipe action, our strategy should make people question the effectiveness of legitimate state sanctioned forms of dissent.”
“There was this Canadian group from the eighties called Direct Action,” says Phreak. Phreak grew up tampering with phones as a kid and then blossomed into a full blown hacker in the age of the internet. If you want something encrypted, decrypted, shared privately or publicly, there are very few things that remain a secret for long around Phreak. “They understood quite well that the five of them alone could not topple the world’s nuclear powers. So part of their strategy was to demonstrate to people that militant action could be used successfully, and thus convince others to take up arms as well. With that in mind they planted a bomb at an arms manufacturing facility that had already been the focus of many peaceful protests. Up until then the protests had utterly failed to stop the development of nuclear weapons, but two weeks after the attack there were 15 000 people in the streets marching against ICBMs. In the end the group failed to gain much public sympathy because the bomb they planted critically injured several workers. In fact it was a damn miracle no one was killed.”
“How do you know all that?” you ask.
“Oh, they’re all out of jail now and they’ve released autobiographies.”
“We want to end bloodshed and oppression,” says Dee passionately, “our strategy must reflect that. The Weather Underground understood the value of a human life when they lost three of their own to a misfired explosive they were building. Consequently, though they carried out dozens of successful bombings, they never harmed a single bystander. Their careful strategy received great public support, even praise.” With grease stained fingernails Dee is most at home in a workshop bursting with tools and do-it-yourself projects. From hillbilly moonshine to bio-fuels and wind turbines, this wing-nut mechanic will fix you up a brew of somethin’ fierce to mend your troubles.
“And yet they too were neutralized by the state,” says Red interjecting. “Perhaps their mistake is that they attacked the system where it’s the strongest. Their targets were the armed forces, the prison system, and the FBI. These are all military-style institutions that expect to be the targets of attacks.”
“That’s true,” Garlic pipes up enthusiastically, “even professional armies rarely engage the enemy directly. More likely they’d strike at softer targets first: highways, power lines, factories, weaken the opponents’ ability to resist.” Garlic, who’s a guerrilla gardener and cycling enthusiast, envisions a world run wild with plants that we harvest for food and medicine. They’re captivated by the idea of destroying capitalist infrastructure.
“How many of you have read The Coming Insurrection by The Invisible Committee?” asks Phreak. “They’re a French group who point out that while the Global Economic System is a Goliath and sometimes seems omnipotent. It is at the same time, highly dependent on poorly guarded energy infrastructure. As soon as there’s no electricity, shopping malls close down, banks stop trading, and the unrelenting church of consumerism grinds to a halt.”
Bobcat who’s been quietly tending the fire all this time, leans forward and voices exactly what everyone’s been thinking:
“It seems to me that the human exploitation that we see in our economy, evidenced by where all our consumer goods are manufactured, is made possible by the power we gain from the resources we rip from the earth. An attack on the resource industry not only helps protect the earth, but also makes the elite less powerful and weakens their ability to prey on the vulnerable.”
Bobcat hates modern industrial civilization and spends most of their time in the woods, hunting, wild crafting, foraging, and honing their primitivist skills. You suddenly appreciate why.
From this point on, the purpose of your group becomes apparent. The public discourse around climate change has put the fossil fuel industry under intense public scrutiny. People from all walks of life are mobilizing against the expansion of the oil and gas industry, but so far court challenges, boycotts, International NGOs, indigenous groups and protests have all but failed to put a dent in the development of new energy projects fueled by the world’s insatiable appetite for cheap power. But where peaceful protest has fallen on deaf ears, action speaks louder than words. You and your cell are committed to bringing the fight to the next level. You will not lay your bodies in the path of the machines in a symbolic act of resistance. You consider symbolism cheap in this media saturated world. Instead you will grind the machines into the earth, and if you are successful, you will be able to show others who are already mobilized how to bring down the Leviathan. For we are all a part of the beast and we must reject the system that compels us to respect its laws and lulls us into sleep with fairy tales of technological utopia and consumerist paradise.
You all begin your preparations to go underground. This means you start to hang out less and less with your friends, stop going to social events and definitely do not go to any protests or political activities where there might be police. Each member of the group is assigned a task: Phreak is in charge of finding out about maps, building permits, geotechnical data and plans, while Garlic and Bobcat do field research gathering intelligence on the ground. Hobo and Dee are busy collecting tools, and supplies as well as fixing up an old 4x4 to run on bio-fuel. Meanwhile Red has embroiled themselves with some kind of scheme to get funding for the project. Your job is firearms. A simple prospect of filling out some paperwork, and then passing a criminal background check. You have no history of violent criminal offences so it should be no problem. But the idea of interacting with the authorities for the purpose of acquiring lethal tools still makes you nervous. Which is exactly what you shouldn’t be if you are a farmer looking for some .22s and a shotgun to get rid of pests in your fields.
After you submit your paperwork you begin checking your mail compulsively. That’s when, one morning on your front doorstep, you meet two uniformed police officers who address you by name. Your heart jumps into your throat. You try not to let your face betray you.
“Can I help you?” you ask.
“You’re not in trouble. We just want to bring you to the station to answer some questions about your recent activities, including your attempt to purchase firearms. Would you come with us please?”
“Do I have to?” you ask.
“You may refuse by all means, but you will not be granted permission to acquire.”
“I see.” You oblige and go with them to the station where you’re led past the front desk sergeant and told to empty your pockets before you pass through a metal detector. Afterwards, your belongings are returned to you and you’re brought to a sparse room made notorious through thousands of movies and television shows. It is windowless, featureless, and contains only a table and three stackable chairs.
“Would you like a coffee?” one of the constables asks, as if they’ve just invited you over for small talk.
“No thanks.”
“Sure?”
“I’m fine.”
“Ok.”
They exit the room without a word, closing the door behind them. You debate going to see if it’s actually locked or not. This must be part of their game you think to yourself, leaving you alone for who knows how long without really explaining why they want you here. They let you sow your own seeds of doubt, suspicion and fear, letting your imagination unravel you. You try not to go down that path as you await whatever it is they’ve got coming to you. After what seems an eternity, but is probably no more than fifteen or twenty minutes, the door opens and in walks a dishevelled looking non-uniformed officer, their dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. You think about asking for a lawyer as they take a seat across from you at the table, but you know that they’ll say you’re only hear voluntarily. The officer leans back in their seat staring intensely across the table at you. They look tired and pissed off, as if they may just reach over at any moment and break you like a twig. You wonder how much of it is authentic and how much is an act.
“I’m detective Leblanc,” they say eventually.
“I don’t need to introduce myself I’m sure you know who I am already.”
“Yes. We do.” The statement hangs heavy in the air before the detective continues. “The firearms acquisition process requires that everyone pass a police check first so that dangerous weapons don’t end up in the hands of the wrong people.”
“I’m a law abiding citizen,” you proclaim. “Wouldn’t the ‘wrong people’ just obtain an illegal firearm?”
“Indeed. We’ve been looking into you and your friends. You’ve been keeping some strange company as of late. Associating with radicals, going to anti-government protests.”
“I just need a shotgun, and a little .22 to keep the deer and geese off my crops. I didn’t know my political beliefs had anything to do with that.”
“We know what you and your friends are up to, and we are offering you a chance right now. You aren’t going to get another opportunity. Am I making myself clear? You are going to help us by giving us the information we need or you are going to look back at this moment and regret your decision for the rest of your life. Do you understand?”
“I understand that you’re misinformed and that you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“We know you’re not a bad person. You want to help people, that’s why you became an activist. But some of the people you’re involved with are dangerous. They’re not like you, they could end up hurting people. For your own sake, please co-operate with our investigation and we’ll leave you alone.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s too bad. For you that is. If you’re not going to help us then we’re not going to be able to help you. You could have saved yourself a whole lot of trouble. But if that’s your attitude, you’re going to have to live with the consequences, and believe me, there will be consequences. Are you sure you won’t reconsider before you make a big mistake? This is your last chance.”