#rebelliousmourning — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #rebelliousmourning, aggregated by home.social.
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Made some prints with my friend using a snake skin I found. This particular one really spoke to the profound loss and transformation I'm feeling alongside others this year of the snake.
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CALL for contributions!
PLEASE read & share!***
I’ve walked by this wheat-paste numerous times. It always elicits grief—from the malicious rips—along with the sense that “they tried to bury us; they didn’t know we were seeds”—seen in the rebellious love that survives the fascistic vandalism. It reminds me too of the grief I felt when hearing a now-martyred female fighter in Rojava say, in a film, that she gave up her life for the liberation struggle so that others in the future could savor a world structured by love.
These are glimpses of what I understand to be “antifascist grief”—feelings specific to this moment in human history, and the sensibilities and practices that such sorrow can generate in us. I see it as crucial that we engage in “rebellious mourning” not merely to honor our dead but also to see them as inseparable from the life we’re striving for together. And because if we don’t grieve… well, they will bury us—disappear us and our beautiful aspirations, whether directly or indirectly. Because grief can and does tear us apart when done alone or unacknowledged. But it can—as one contributor wrote in a piece I said yes to—be key to weaving “communal bonds,” which in turn are key to seeding possibilities.
Hence why the next zine in my curated series revolves around “The Heart Is a Muscle: Embodiments of Antifascist Grief.” Per usual with these zines featuring numerous voices, it takes two or three “calls” to get enough submissions that are good fits. So here goes again:
Length: 75 to 250 words
Deadline: Aug 14 or sooner
Email to: cbmilstein [at] yahooSee prior posts for more detail! For now, I want to share an excerpt from a piece going in the zine:
“Almost every week, for twenty-two months, we‘ve been marching for Gaza en masse—our cup of grief full. … Large numbers of people in one place seemed to have less and less impact. Meanwhile, our sorrow only increased as the atrocities multiplied. Our cup spilled over, time and again, with seemingly nowhere to go. … But like charged ions, our energy, catalyzed by our grief, … has dispersed us across the landscape and drawn us onto the lesser-traveled streets, touching people and places that hold the heaviness of these times” (Lesley Wood).
#TheHeartIsAMuscle
#AntifascistGrief
#RebelliousMourning(photo taken in Montreal/Tio’tià:ke, July 25)
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Call for contributions to the next curated zine in my “series” aimed at countering this christofascist era:
“The Heart Is a Muscle:
XX Embodiments of Antifascist Grief”Length: approx. 75 to 250 words
Due: by or before August 4
Email: cbmilstein [at] yahoo [dot] comPlease read my previous post for more details on this zine, including a series of prompts that hopefully will generate contributions coming at the overall theme from varied directions. As another aid—or rather, some inspiration—in nudging you to consider submitting an anecdote, here’s a story I said “yes” to already for inclusion in this zine:
🖤🌹🖤
“Grief is a tightrope I walk. On the one end, there’s the seemingly surreal amount of suffering, loss, death, pain, and hate. On the other, the connections, love, resistance, and refusal of my networks of kin and comrades. For my own well-being, balance is essential. To fall off this tightrope means to enter into crisis. And crises for me are the hopeless places of despair, suicidality, and addiction. I do not want to go back there, for I’ve worked too hard to get out.
“This moment is challenging: it seems incomprehensible, yet demands that we live it. To accept reality yet not consent to its impositions is a difficult proposition. To be awake in a world awash in pain is to risk drowning in it. So I must set boundaries. I limit my intake of news. I make space for play. I reach out to others.
“At my best, all I have done is say, ‘Friend, you don’t need to carry this alone.’ I believe it is through collectively carrying the infinite weight of stolen lives, the weight of loss, injustice, fear, genocide, state terror, and fascism, that we forge collective memory. It is how we fight back against forgetting. And it is how together, we can walk forward, balanced in defiant grief. No one can hold all of this alone. We must all lend a hand to keep one another from falling.”
—Scott Campbell#RebelliousMourning
#CollectiveWorkOfGrief(photo: “Revolutionary love” tag, red on a concrete barrier, seen in Montreal, July 2025—because we only grieve what we love, and by mourning our losses, we put our love into “direct action” to fight for the living)
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Call for contributions to the next curated zine in my “series” aimed at countering this christofascist era:
“The Heart Is a Muscle:
XX Embodiments of Antifascist Grief”Length: approx. 75 to 250 words
Due: by or before August 4
Email: cbmilstein [at] yahoo [dot] comThis next collection of (your) voices revolves around the rivers of rage and seas of sorrow that are distinctive to this moment. It aims to both name the myriad and specific types of grief we feel in light of neofascisms taking hold across this imperiled earth, and share stories of how grief fuels our resolve and generates new ways to struggle against fascism.
As prompts to help shape your contributions:
1. What’s particular about the form(s) grief and losses that you’re experiencing at present? How does grief feel different and even surprising? What is it bringing up for you? What novel or surprising losses are you suddenly facing?
2. How do you embody that grief? Where do you see and feel it?
3. Where are your feelings of grief over fascism leading you? What are they generating? What are they compelling you to do, want to do, or not do? And with whom? Or where? Or how?
4. In what ways has your antifascist grief showed up—especially publicly, politically, and/or collectively—as practices of “rebellious mourning”?
5. What example from your own life, circles, or communities can you share that embody a “direct action of the grieving”? How have our shared patterns of losses and griefs under fascism fueled rituals of resistance, community self-defense, collective care, and/or solidarity?
Please only send me pieces that speak to grief and mourning that explicitly arise from an anarchistic as well as antifascist impulse, and center on “antifascist grief,” not timeless or decontextualed grief (crucial as that is too).
#RebelliousMourning
#CollectiveWorkOfGrief(photo: “mourn the dead & fight like hell for the living” sticker, Pittsburgh, 2025)
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Call for contributions to the next curated zine in my “series” to counter this christofascist era:
“The Heart Is a Muscle:
XX Embodiments of Antifascist Grief”Length: approx. 75 to 250 words
Due: by or before August 1
Email: cbmilstein [at] yahoo [dot] comOf late—or rather, for many months—it feels sadly routine to get one or several texts daily in which a friend, old or new, says: “I’m struggling.” Those two words are like clockwork in their regularity, as if counting out how the days, hours, or seconds of these sadistic times tear at our very souls. They are followed, invariably, by more detail of why that particular person is struggling, and how much it’s breaking their body, heart, and spirit. And while each “I’m struggling” is an individual story, there are patterns among these tales that transcend a lone experience, revealing a collective impact that can be summarized, I’d argue, in one word.
Grief.
“Grief” is shorthand for the impossible-to-summarize mountains of our losses, which in turn carve out rivers of rage and seas of sorrow. It’s healthy, given all of this, to know one is struggling. It means you still have a heart and are busily exercising that muscle. And by sending off a *simple* text or leaving a voicemail or penning a letter or posting on social media that you’re having a rough go of it, you’re showing others that you still have a heart, and you’re being met in turn by those who still have a heart too, and together, our grief is held by our love.
For we only grieve what we love, and despite the slogan “grief is love with no place to go,” it does take us places; it does have a place to go.
Through grief-as-love, we can find each other, naming the dimensions of how we embody antifascist mourning, so we can share and cope with it. We can take better care of each other, whether via communal rituals, social solidarity, or community self-defense. Grief can fuel our resolve and generate new ways to struggle against fascism.
Long story short: I’m seeking your musings on how you’re embodying your antifascist grief—what it feels like, where it leads you, with whom, and/or how.
For previous (free and downloadable!) zines in this series, see:
https://itsgoingdown.org/author/cindy-milstein/
#RebelliousMourning
#CollectiveWorkOfGrief
#DirectActionOfTheAggrieved(photo: circle A heart, tag, Montreal, 2025)
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Sparks of rebellious inspiration have a funny way of not staying put in one time or space. They traverse borders. They congregate without permission in all sorts of unexpected places. They defy the logics of commodification, freely sharing with and borrowing from each other, while also defying the logics of colonialism and states, offering life-giving solidarity to weather and contest their death machinery.
We never know, when we release tiny sparks into the enormous darkness of this social order, where they will end up, if they manage to stay alighted at all. Or who will see them, or where or when, much less what they will make of those sparks. Most often, we never know, and don’t really need to.
Yet we do need to remember that each and every one of us who aspires to kindle the flames of a new world does indeed put out sparks into the night via all our many gifts. And just as we find inspiration in those random sparks that we stumble on and run with, others will likely do the same with what we release into the wind to stir up social transformation.
But occasionally, we get to see and feel the fruits of reciprocal inspiration—proof positive that our liberatory strivings can soar above walls and fences to magnify resistance. Or simply to supply each other with the further inspiration to keep fighting and dreaming.
The past two days in Montreal, some 85,000 students went on strike in solidarity with Palestinians, timed to coincide with NATO meetings in that city. This student strike, in turn, finds echoes of inspiration in years of powerful student and social strikes in Montreal. And just as I was feeling FOMO that I couldn’t be there for this strike, a Concordia student texted me these photos (used with consent) of an altar they’d set up as both a blockade in their classroom and collective space of grief, inspired by the stories in my edited anthology #RebelliousMourning (@akpressdistro, with striking design by @eff_charm).
May our arts of inspiration, resistance, and remembrance burst into rebel bonfires, illuminating our ancestors there alongside us and honoring them as we journey toward freedom.
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In what felt the “perfect” metaphor for the sorrow of today, October 7, 2024, the many thousands of names of the dead this past year—those “killed in Gaza,” as this enormous wheatpaste spelled out just two days ago—were buffed out. Literally whitewashed. Only bits and pieces barely recognizable were left.
The sacred desecrated. Again. First in life, then in death, and now in remembrance. The necropolitics of genocide, in which even naming, much less grieving, the dead is a threat.
I marched past this wheatpaste on the stolen lands of Tiohtià:ke/Mooniyang with thousands of others this afternoon. A river of humans creating a sea of keffiyehs. A soundscape of solidarity. A demonstration of what it means to walk side by side for 365 days, even if it seems we’re getting nowhere.
So many of those days—all of them, really—have seen a battle between those who can name the simple truth and those who want to paper it over. Those who can see right from wrong, and those who want to pile more wrongs on top of other wrongs, obscuring any sense of an ethical compass.
I stared at the now painted-over wall—thousands of martyrs honored just two days ago now disappeared, and with a precision of brushstroke and straight lines that chilled my soul.
It, too, is part of this battlefield. Even if it’s just a wall. A wall of barely readable names pasted onto plywood boards covering up the renovation of yet another fancy store on a business-as-usual shopping area in downtown Montreal.
Yet the persistent, resistant ghosts of the dead—those who should not have been killed in Gaza—nonetheless peeked through the whitewash. A remembrance of sorts to us, the still living, that we walk side by side with them, our chosen ancestors in the long, hard road to liberation.
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Mourning the martyrs, fighting for and with the living.
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Killed in Gaza / tuées a Gaza
“This dataset provides daily values for those killed in the Gaza Strip since October 7th, 2023. There are currently 362 days of reports from 2023-10-07 to 2024-10-02.”
Source: data.techforpalestine.org
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Collaboration
@collages_feministes_montreal_
@collages_feminicides_montreal_+ + +
The unquiet dead. Fresh, lengthy wheatpaste on the busy shopping area of Rue Ste-Catherine O in Montreal, on the stolen lands of Tiohtià:ke/Mooniyang, as seen on October 5, 2024.
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#RebelliousMourning
#ArtOfResistance
#ArtOfRemembrance
#UntilAllAreFree -
Mourning the martyrs, fighting for and with the living.
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Killed in Gaza / tuées a Gaza
“This dataset provides daily values for those killed in the Gaza Strip since October 7th, 2023. There are currently 362 days of reports from 2023-10-07 to 2024-10-02.”
Source: data.techforpalestine.org
+ + +
Collaboration
@collages_feministes_montreal_
@collages_feminicides_montreal_+ + +
The unquiet dead. Fresh, lengthy wheatpaste on the busy shopping area of Rue Ste-Catherine O in Montreal, on the stolen lands of Tiohtià:ke/Mooniyang, as seen on October 5, 2024.
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#RebelliousMourning
#ArtOfResistance
#ArtOfRemembrance
#UntilAllAreFree -
Aaron Bushnell’s act touched me in profound ways as a fellow anarchist. Foremost was the intricate way he self-organized the numerous details to be sure to care for the beloveds he left behind while also assuring his self-immolation was precisely and unequivocally read as care for Palestinians, and how he took a strategic direct action based on a clear-eyed anarchist understanding of hierarchical power and side-by-side solidarity in a time of fascism and its genocidal logic—and it succeeded, perhaps beyond his own hopes.
I needed to process and honor his death, and without thinking it through, called for a vigil by a river, and suddenly it was clear that lots of folks needed it too and were going to show up. I’d done zero planning; I’d only been feeling.
These days, feelings can be plenty—if we listen to them, and let them shape and hold the spaces our bodies communally crave amid this nightmarish era.
My emotions lead me to craft a circle A out of sticks. It lead my friend @shadow_patterns to paint a portrait of Aaron, and with our friend @zoziebee, we made a DIY altar on the grass.
As twilight came, some 75 people appeared from all sides, clustering around the altar, adding flowers, hand-written notes and art, and home-baked cookies. I offered some words, then many hands lit many candles, which punctuated the now-darkness with warmth. Silence fell for some minutes, until one brave person took up my offer to share; they read a poem they’d just written. Their vulnerability encouraged others to speak from the heart. Someone lead us in learning a song to sing aloud. Ducks flew directly past us, adding their voices. A person laid down a Palestinian flag, then created a “river” on it from fabric and a “sea” with shells, lighting candles in them.
Mourning Aaron became inseparable from mourning every destroyed or lost life in Gaza. Aaron’s calculated risk and loving intentionality had woven that tight bond.
Folks lingered after the vigil, solemnly extinguishing the candles. “Hey, why don’t we leave the organic parts of the altar here, for others to see tomorrow?”
Today, Aaron’s portrait found a spot in @firestorm.
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All anarchist(ic) spaces should routinely include grief altars.
So it lit a fire in me to see this one today at a @stopcopcity, @defendatlantaforest, and Palestinian solidarity afternoon of five workshops in so-called Asheville, NC, thanks to @12basketscafe lending its space and the @pansy.collective weaving it all together.
One candle on the altar burned for the whole seven hours, gently illuminating a banner behind it asserting that Palestine will be free. That flame seemed a carrier of the radical traditions, wisdoms, and solidarities in the room, and danced and flickered as if in tune with the joy and sorrow among us. The roses did what they do best: tend to broken hearts. Or as rebels have long said, “We need bread, but we also need roses!”
As we were all pitching in after the last workshop to clean up the space—where routinely, mutual aid breaks bread, as it were, through the community meals and so much else that happens there—I noticed the altar builder meticulously and reverently dismantling it. They gently picked up petals and leaves, and told me that they were going to set up the altar again at tonight’s fundraiser party.
If we can’t dance, it’s not our revolution. But if we can’t mourn and honor our dead, too, and remember that we only grieve what we love, and we love and fight for life and freedom fiercely and beautifully, then it’s not our revolution either.
#RebelliousMourning
#TryAnarchismForLife
#MourningOurDead
#FightingForTheLiving
#UntilAllAreFree -
There were so many sweet, tender, and moving moments at this past weekend’s @ACABookfaire—not to mention silly, inspiring, and connective ones (like the best and most wholesome kind of anarchist family reunions), among so many other dreamy descriptors—that it’s hard to narrow down examples, much less narrow down my gratitude to the organizers, tablers, presenters, and really everyone who converged at this bookfair.
But a highlight for me was the beautiful space made for not only honoring but also remembering and being vulnerably real about our grief—that is, sharing the whole of ourselves and life, with its abundance of joys and sorrows, wins and losses. There were three workshops related to mourning, ritual, dying, and death. There was an altar specifically built for the bookfair by an anarchist gravedigger and casket maker, and people added flowers, notes, art, photos, and herbal grief potions to it over the three days (see pictures 3 and 4).
And there was the friend from Durham, NC, who brought the banner pictured here, which they entrusted to me on the sixth anniversary of Charlottesville on August 12, and which @firestormcoop then let me hang in a prominent place of visibility and honor—over the area in the bookstore used for speakers during the bookfair. Six years ago, the banner was painted soon after Heather Heyer was murdered, and so many others were deeply injured and forever scarred, by fascists during the Unite the Right rally in Cville. It then was originally hung from the stone base of the first Confederate monument that folks tore down in NC, and later, on the one-year anniversary of that monument falling, it was hung up again—this time as part of an altar with names and flowers and candies around it, and folks read the names of people killed by the police in Durham.
The banner now has a home at Firestorm, as daily reminder that “we struggle in memory of all we’ve lost to white supremacy and fascism.” To my mind, all anarchist spaces should routinely make such room for the #ArtOfRemembrance, #RebelliousMourning, and #MendingTheWorld—which is about mending our own rebel hearts too.
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You can judge a book by its cover.
Or at least that’s true of my dear friend @eff_charm’s designs, such as the one pictured here for my edited anthology Rebellious Mourning: The Collective Work of Grief (@akpressdistro).
His book designs, exterior and interior, are more than just strikingly powerful works of art—though they are that too, as I was reminded recently when @tigerbeat kindly shared photos with me of #RebelliousMourning in the @jewseum, accompanying an exhibition by @cara_levine titled “To Survive I Need You to Survive.” The anthology’s cover here sits aesthetically side by side in a museum a pleasing arrangement with another book, @thisisnotagun, with the bright pink and orange seeming to shout “joy” and “life” and “defiant resistance” against the starkness of all the unnecessary death and loss perpetrated by the current social order. In this case for both books, they share in the rage and sorrow over murder by cop. For if you look closely at @eff_charm’s design, you’ll see the face of David Ware, who was killed on January 23, 2007 by law enforcement agents in Ypsilanti, Michigan.
Hence why you can judge Rebellious Mourning by its cover (and interior) design: @eff_charm as a collaborator and accomplice par excellence draws out what the many bravely vulnerable, poetic, bittersweet stories in this collection can’t fully say on their own. When we tell our stories, doing the work of grieving collectively all that we shouldn’t be made to mourn, words help to honor and make bearable our losses, yet words are and will never be enough. Our hearts hold a world of emotions that we feel, that move through all of our senses.
This cover design acts in concert with the book’s compelling, tear-inducing yet cathartic stories to allow us to do that feeling and seeing, visually and somatically, calling forth presence despite absence, life despite (or because of death). The design “reads” emotionally, urging us to see our survival as intimately connected to the survival of each other and the nonhuman ecosystems of which we’re a part. Urging us to mourn rebelliously in service of love, care, and all that’s liberatory in these grievously horrific times.
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Sneak peek of a banner—featuring two purple+black roses—that I’m so honored to be painting today alongside a new, big-hearted friend for the “espace de deuil” (grief space) to be set up outside the Montreal Anarchist Bookfair this whole weekend.
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Grief lands us in unexpected places. And it’s how we create collective room for processing it that allows us to journey through our grief in ways that make it more bearable, especially related to unnecessary losses.
Yet it still felt surprising to see my edited anthology “Rebellious Mourning: The Collective Work of Grief” (AK Press, with poignant design by @eff_charm, including cover art honoring David Ware, a Black man murdered on January 23, 2007, by police in Ypsilanti, Michigan) in a literal room in a museum—a respite room, to be exact.
The term “respite” refers to offering temporary care in the form of a period of rest and relief. Meaning it’s only an interval in the grinding violence of, in this case, anti-Black racism.
Such respite feels crucial in the context of this museum exhibition, “An Archaeology of Silence,” being held now at the @deyoungmuseum. The exhibit is described thusly: “Artist Kehinde Wiley’s new body of paintings and sculptures confronts the silence surrounding systemic violence against Black people through the visual language of the fallen figure. … [Deaths] are transformed into a powerful elegy of resistance. The resulting paintings of figures struck down, wounded, or dead, referencing iconic paintings of mythical heroes, martyrs, and saints, offer a haunting meditation on the legacies of colonialism and systemic racism.”
Mourning and honoring the systemic loss of Black life should include some comfort, some relief. But how could this not be temporary given the lengthy, genocidal history of anti-Blackness along with the ongoing brutality of white supremacy, policing and prison systems, and increasingly outright fascism?
The choice of “respite” for a room filled with grief-related books and, I imagine, some breathing space from the heaviness of this exhibition feels appropriate: there can be no real, sustained relief in this world. How we mourn, though, has an intimate, inseparable relation to how we go about fighting for social transformation—or it should. Our ancestors, so many of them still existing as “unquiet ghosts” far from being at peace, demand no less.
#RebelliousMourning
#NoMoreStolenLives
#CollectiveWorkOfGriefhttps://www.akpress.org/rebellious-mourning.html
(Thanks to Steve Rhodes for sending me this photo)
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“How’s your covid grief these days?”
Those words, which traveled across an ocean and many borders as a DM, supplied a recognition that’s too rare in this so-called post-pandemic world: someone else feels stuck in mourning.
For without collective reckoning of what humanity has gone and is still going through …
Without collective processing of the innumerable losses as our sacred shared duty …
Without public do-it-ourselves altars, memorials, and other pandemic grief spaces woven into the public landscape, acknowledging the immensity of the collective and individual trauma and myriad absences …
Without honoring our dead and actively fighting for the living …
Without collective care for those who are sick, disabled, grappling with long covid, or dying …
Without people routinely inquiring into each other’s losses in this world where there’s so much to mourn and grieving demands its own good, communal time …
Without masks and other visible gestures of everyday forms of looking out for the well-being of all …
Without regard for how some people are being cut off from living fully and in community because they are at risk while so much of social and work life is “back to normal” …
Without those in our own anarchist(ic) circles steadfastly, reciprocally, and without question always including and lovingly abiding by covid and other harm reduction as practices in all our spaces …
How can one not be stuck?
How can one not feel dead inside? A hollow shell? Alone?
Grieving needs the company of others, not merely to hold the profundity of any loss and make it more bearable, but to witness, believe, and remember the loss, and thus integrate it into how we want to move forward.
Without that, especially in the face of the human-made catastrophe of a global pandemic, most of humanity has shifted backward into a delusional normal that denies both death and qualitative life, thereby ensuring the hum of a murderous social system.
A few, too few, take time to ask each other and really listen to the reply, “How’s your grief?”
With that small act, mourning rebelliously finds some ground for us to get unstuck.
#CollectiveCare
#RebelliousMourning
#CollectiveWorkOfGrief(photo: black-and-white etching-style image of skull wheat pasted on a white-painted brick wall, with the edge of the forehead peeling off a bit, as seen in Tio’tia:ke/Montreal, winter 2023)
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Grief rituals, one could argue, are part of the essential grounding for millennia-old cultures that orient toward far more ecological relations with the whole of this earth, including each other. For loss is part of the seasons of life, which ancient—and yet still here—cultures recognize needs to be honored through ceremony so as to remember what is loved and cherished, and continually reaffirm a duty to love and defend life.
It is little wonder that as colonialism and capitalism, heteropatriarchy and white Christian supremacy, grew into hegemonic death machines over the centuries, they tried to kill off innumerable life-giving rituals and ceremonies that humans passed along over generations to hold each other through transitions. They tried to make people forget that minds and bodies crave—and need—those rituals and ceremonies in order to sustain hearts and spirit. And without heart and spirit, humans become shells of themselves.
It is little wonder, then, that so many humans today, but especially human-made institutions like states and their police, are so hollowed out of heart—of empathy and sociability, solidarity and communal care—they all too easily acquiesce to or participate in killing off life.
It has been a week since Tortuguita was murdered in cold blood by cops within Weelaunee forest, where Tort gave full heart and loving spirit to defending life-giving ecosystems. May their memory be a blessing.
In that week, so many people have, in essence, “sat shiva,” a ritual within Jewishness that is about taking seven days to be with community (whether people or trees) to begin to honor and process loss of a beloved and grief at their death. Shiva doesn’t mean doing nothing. It is a time to sustain our hearts and spirits.
So it’s remarkable—a testament to Tort as well as the big, amorphous, autonomous, yet interwoven circles of rebels—that this past week has witnessed an outpouring of remembrance that we do indeed need and can revive ancient grief rituals, as precisely the ground that allows us to keep fighting, not merely to #StopCopCity, but to stop all systemic theft of lands and life.
#RebelliousMourning
#MourningOurDead
#FightingLikeHellForTheLiving
#RitualAsResistance
#MendingTheWorld(photo: sign with words “Weelaunee People’s Park” seen among the trees in October 2022 at @defendATLforest)
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Sunday afternoon #FuckThePolice (and their allies) stroll amid signs of fresh snowfall and the fresh fallout of what allegedly was a #StopCopCity vigil late last evening on the stolen Anishinabeeg lands of so-called Lansing, Michigan.
#MourningOurDead
#RestInPowerTort
#RebelliousMourning
#FightingLikeHellForTheLiving
#ForestsNotFascism
#SolidarityIsOurBestWeapon -
(Part 4 of 6): By way of celebrating my new book “Try Anarchism for Life” being in print and out in the world, and because I have a backlog of photos of circle As in the wild, plus to honor and thank the folks who took the time and care to write blurbs for this book, here’s a trifecta of what I hope are some beautiful expressions of anarchism: street art + the book’s cover + a blurb.
I’ve been thinking a lot—or more than I already do—about “tipping points, when phenomena palpably shift from bad to worse—such as, to my queer Jewish anarchist mind, proto-fascism tipping to fascism after the US midterms—and how those of us who are anarchists see train wrecks coming long before the train has even left the station and beautifully prepare all sorts of infrastructures of #Solidarity way ahead of time. Infrastructures of #MutualAid, #CommunitySelfDefense, #RebelliousMourning, and #FierceLove. It’s shattering my heart that we must increasingly use those infrastructures *merely* to try to lessen the genocidal impacts of Christian fascism here. Yet they are also, always, gesturing toward #AWorldWithoutFascism.
“‘Try Anarchism for Life’ is both a beautiful homage to the countless fragments of ephemeral resistance that constitute everyday antiauthoritarianism and a principled call to commit to stitching together those fragments of daily autonomy-making into flourishing lives of resistance. Paired with unique renditions of the classic circle A, Milstein’s poetic phrases endow age-old concepts like mutual aid and solidarity with renewed vitality and urgency.”
—Mark Bray, author of “Antifa,” “The Anarchist Inquisition,” and “Translating Anarchy”
Copies of the book are available from the publisher, @tangledwild, at www.tangledwilderness.org (for folks in and outside of the US too), @akpressdistro at www.akpress.org, or your favorite anarchist(ic) bookstore, and libraries.
(photos: the rock-solid strength of our circles, as portrayed on a sticker seen in mid-Oct at @defendatlantaforest; beautiful book cover, designed by @eff_charm with circle A by @landonsheely)
#TryAnarchismForLife
#TheBeautyOfOurCircle
#AnarchismOrFascism
#FuckFascism #FTP
#WeAreAllWeNeed
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