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From the excavation of stories, memories, remedies, techniques, intuition and beliefs, the site presents a diverse interpretation of these knowledge(s). Between the Living and the Archive is an exercise to make space for these manifestations of knowledge(s) that live beyond mainstream pedagogical systems. Whether learnt, inherited or experienced, each artistic presentation demonstrates the physical translation of these knowledge(s) into materiality. The site invites us to contemplate our lived experiences built from these bodily methods of integration.

Curated by Fajrina Razak & Syaheedah Iskandar

https://livingarchive.art/Exhibition

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Dahlia Osman is a multidisciplinary artist who examines neuroplasticity, her personal narrative and relationship with the wider connection between human relations and experiences. Her commissioned works include public sculptures and murals for local museums. She has also collaborated with theatre companies for set design in numerous productions

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Andree was trained in NAFA and very active on the performance scene in Singapore for 20 years. She often touched on taboo subjects relative to the (female) body. She was a member of The Artists Village and remains an inspiration to many younger artists despite moving away from Singapore.

https://www.nafa.edu.sg/featured-alumni/profile/andree-weschler

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"My diary reflects what I've been reading; it's where I speak of the important events of my life, the traumas, the joys, the obsessions, the childhood memories; it's where I keep the smells, the tastes, the sounds and the images that I have in my head and which I collect, and which, sooner or later, appear in my work, whether it's something I've read, a title of a book that has inspired me, a story that my father had told me... The diary is where I recount my dreams, my reality."

Andrée received the Scholarship for L'Ecole Nationale des Beaux-Arts de Paris- Atelier of Annette Messager in 2001, and has since been representing Singapore in global art festivals and events, such as the Biennale Arte Dolomiti, Italy (2016), Archipel Secret, Palais de Tokyo, Paris, France (2015), ICASTICA: International Women's Art Biennale, Arezzo, Italy (2013) and the 4 th Guangzhou Triennal, China (2011). She has also presented 7 solo exhibitions across countries and held duo exhibitions with highly-recognised collaborators such as Duan Ying Mei and Lynn Lu.

Born in France, Andrée Weschler has been living and practicing her art in Asia for the past 20 years. She trained in visual arts in Singapore, Australia and France. At Les Beaux Arts de Paris, she worked in the atelier of Annette Messager. Since 2000, she has been invited to participate in international art events in Asia and Europe. Her art practice is a very active one, spanning across countries from Singapore, Japan, Korea, China, Thailand, Poland, Chile, Italy, Germany and France. Her artistic practices encompass Performance Art, Video Art, Photography, Installation and Jewellery-making.

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"My diary reflects what I've been reading; it's where I speak of the important events of my life, the traumas, the joys, the obsessions, the childhood memories; it's where I keep the smells, the tastes, the sounds and the images that I have in my head and which I collect, and which, sooner or later, appear in my work, whether it's something I've read, a title of a book that has inspired me, a story that my father had told me...

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https://singaporeartbookfair.org/Luca-Lum

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LUCA LUM Photo Credit: Courtesy of Artist SGABF: Tell us a little about you as an artist and the philosophy behind your work. Luca Lum (LL): My work so far...

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Bubble Gum & Death Metal (BGDM) by Samantha Yap and Stephanie J Burt

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Bubble Gum & Death Metal (BGDM) by Samantha Yap and Stephanie J Burt

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https://www.facebook.com/bgdmsocial/
https://jacintha.info/Bubble-Gum-Death-Metal

Bubblegum and Death Metal (BGDM) is a feminist art platform and collective started by Samantha Yap and Stephanie Burt. It hopes to foster collaboration and kinship amongst female creatives.

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Bubblegum and Death Metal (BGDM) is a feminist art platform and collective started by Samantha Yap and Stephanie Burt. It hopes to foster collaboration and kinship amongst female creatives.

Writeup taken from BGDM
A reiteration of the essay title "Bubblegum and Heavy Metal" by Frances Gateward in Sugar Spice and Everything Nice: Cinemas of Girlhood, focusing on Japanese animation with leading girl characters and alternative views on power-BGDM aims to explore the subtle shifts of identities in and between girls, which range from similar soft exteriors to deadly constructs. These shifts that impel them to act in a vast array of contradictory behaviors which occasionally pass into rebellion and a deep need to assert their individual autonomy.

The BGDM identity is one that occupies dual seemingly contradictory positions-it is vivacious yet approachable, friendly but rebellious and relatable but individualistic. For the namecards, the logo uses resembles a sign-off and the namecards double as note cards, love letters and forget me nots, which makes the namecard more casual.

If you're interested to find out more about BGDM and their upcoming events, you can head over here and here.

BGDM X is a series of collaborative events hosted by BGDM that invites female creatives along for sharing sessions and discussions.

BGDM published their first zine mid 2018. The theme of the first issue is sharing. With that in mind, I wanted the zine's format to be easily accessible. As a self-funded group, the budget is limited, so the design has to work within the budgt's parameters. I wanted the zine to portray BGDM's personality. I proposed using a colored pink paper, with black and white printing on the inside. This has a distinctive look and feel while keeping to the budget.

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Bubble Gum & Death Metal - Jacintha Yap - Graphic Design

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Bubblegum and Death Metal (BGDM) is a feminist art platform and collective started by Samantha Yap and Stephanie Burt. It hopes to foster collaboration and kinship amongst female creatives.

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https://h0t.house/presentations/irina-aristarkhova
Samantha Yap and Teow Yue Han of Hothouse speaks to Dr. Aristarkhova about her time in Singapore, cycling through key projects and strands of thoughts throughout the late 1990s and 2000s, and reflecting on her engagement with cyberfeminism, feminism, and early engagements with media art.

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Mindspace is a conversation series that charts the conditions of various technology-informed art practices and practitioners in an attempt to present a working history of media art in Singapore.

In our second conversation for Mindspace, we are hearing from Dr. Irina Aristarkhova, who is currently a Professor at the University of Michigan where she lectures and writes extensively on contemporary art, theory and digital studies. In 1999-2001, Dr. Aristarkhova was also part of the faculty at LASALLE College of Arts teaching feminist and cyber theory and was responsible for the direction and inception of the earlier Cyberarts and Cyberculture Research Initiative in the National University of Singapore.

Samantha Yap and Teow Yue Han of Hothouse speaks to Dr. Aristarkhova about her time in Singapore, cycling through key projects and strands of thoughts throughout the late 1990s and 2000s, and reflecting on her engagement with cyberfeminism, feminism, and early engagements with media art.

Regarding the initiating of this series of conversations, we were reflecting on how this sharp pivot towards digital formats appear to eclipse the consideration of there being a rather vibrant media landscape in Singapore, before the pandemic and particularly during the 2000s. It's also important to reflect on how many female artists were also at the forefront of this development at that time. Through our questions, we would like to cycle through some key projects and strands of thoughts that you've written about or worked on throughout the late 90s and 2000s so that we can take some time to reflect on what was the media landscape in Singapore like at that time especially when it felt like there was a heightened interest in technology and a wave of technology-informed events and practices. We're also interested to hear about the engagements with female artists you had, and any key artworks that left an impact on you. To start off, how have you been? How are things over there?

It's all good. Just busy with the start of a new semester here at the University of Michigan. I'm teaching a new online course called Digital Feminisms, it'll be fun. So, it's good to reconnect and learn about what you do at Hothouse because I think that many questions which we raised in earlier years about technology and culture are coming back because of the pandemic and our current digital lives.

Moving on to our deep dive into the past, we wanted to start by recalling the Feminist Art Workshop held at LASALLE College of the Arts in 1999 and its resulting exhibition, symposium and catalogue, A Self of One's Own. Unfortunately, the workshop did not continue past its first iteration, and who knows what the future may hold in terms of reviving it, but can you share more with us? Namely, what were the impetus and the intention of the workshop? What was your biggest takeaway from the workshop?

I offered a hybrid seminar-studio course in the Spring 1999 semester at LASALLE and titled it a "Feminist Art Workshop." The idea was to read feminist theory together as a collaborative collective of art students who would then go and make work, bring it back to class and get feedback that would be informed by ideas and works of contemporary feminist artists, theorists and art historians. One of the key results of that workshop was that collaboratively, the students, another lecturer at LASALLE, Adeline Kueh, and I decided to do an exhibition. The exhibition and a symposium were called A Self of One's Own . Adeline and I subsequently raised funding to publish a catalogue.

A couple of years ago, when I visited Singapore, the participants of that event, Adeline Kueh, Margaret Tan, Shirley Soh, and I met again and realized that it was a 20-year anniversary of the Feminist Art Workshop and A Self of One's Own exhibition.

For our 1999 symposium, we invited a leading feminist artist in Singapore, Amanda Heng, as well Dana Lam from (Association of Women in Action and Research). The workshop and symposium participants were important to Singapore's feminist art history. That event was a collective effort.

If you look at the exhibition's catalogue, with the wonderful cut-out images and the multiple languages on the cover, you would recognise that the feminist, psychoanalytic, post-colonial and contemporary theory that we read as part of the workshop was informed by our differences, by multiple "selves" waiting to be born as part of the feminist practice - our own selves, and not just those identities that our societies wanted from us.

It was not so much about presenting a front like the United Nations, but more about how our notions of self, are still a project, in a feminist sense and a post-colonial sense. They are an existential and political project.

After the workshop's success, I joined LASALLE to teach other courses in contemporary art theory and history. I taught there until early 2001 when I was invited by George Landow to move to the National University of Singapore to start the Cyberarts and Cyberculture Research Initiative with the University Scholars Program.

Throughout my intellectual life and in the development of my books, I have always been interested in and collaborating with contemporary artists because I consider many contemporary artworks as significant as activism for social change. As a scholar, I'm specifically interested in philosophical, political, cultural and social alternatives: if we want to move from where we are now, as a community, to somewhere else, where and how do we move? For me, art and activism prototype and enact social change.

Art is important because of the possibility of building something new. I'm very interested in the moment of creating something new. I believe that creative makers have a lot to contribute to those who seek progressive change in society . That is a larger theoretical premise - that theory has a lot to learn from contemporary art and activism that already imagine alternatives to the status quo and put them into practice. So that we can discuss those alternatives, engage with them here and now, in our lifetime, and not just always imagine good things happening in some distant fuzzy future or in literature and science fiction.

So much of feminist work and knowledge comes from actively finding the language to articulate or disarticulate what has been witnessed or experienced. As with so many other fields, education plays a crucial role in initiating conversations and considerations about how our realities are shaped by gender, as well as class, and race. Can you share more about what you taught at LASALLE and what was the reception to these courses like? Were there some key ideas from then that you felt have persisted in informing your work today or that you continue to teach today at the University of Michigan?

I taught quite a few classes at LASALLE. My dissertation was already focusing on technology and notions of subjecthood or the self in relation to machines. I was thinking about Sherry Turkle's work at that time. One of the courses I taught was focused on cyberfeminism. Another course was on technological embodiment where we thought about cyborgs and artists like Stelarc. There was also a course on Russian Constructivism and going back to the question of the avant-garde with the history of the Bauhaus where technology was a huge part of the project. It was the idea that artists were changing society, working with machines and technology, like printing technology and other industrial machines. I experimented with my curriculum and taught that course solely based on women artists from the Russian avant-garde. I don't know if anyone else ever taught a course on Russian constructivism and had art history examples only of women artists. Those slides that I was showing are still probably somewhere there in LASALLE's library.

The movie, , came out, as you remember, in 1999 as well. One of our LASALLE collaborators in cyberfeminism was a famous American artist Faith Wilding and the cyberfeminist art collective she founded with several other artists, . In fact, we did a project - Adeline Kueh, Margaret Tan, myself and subRosa members, called Matrixial Technologies , in the early 2000s.

As a result of those early collaborations and conversations, I became very interested in questions of gender, technology, and space. What is the Matrix? Why Matrix? I came up with a theory of matrix as a welcoming space and even made an artwork called Virtual Chora , which was exhibited at the Singapore Art Museum. In this work, a separate server supported a website to provide 50MB of free space for users, without any passwords. That was before YouTube, as you can imagine. Virtual Chora 's Homepage had an image of smiling lips, Mona Lisa-style, questioning cyberspace as the matrix / empty space imagery of "Chora."

There is some documentation as part of the Cyberarts Exhibition, curated by Gunalan Nadarajan, over (the link plays with Flash Player) and which was published in "Technics of Cyberfeminism: The Mode is the Message" and translated for the catalogue of the First International Women's Art Festival in Taiwan "Women, Art and Technology" curated by late Elsa Chen. Chen's exhibition and symposium took place during the first SARS pandemic, so travel, as I remember, was disrupted between Singapore and Taiwan, in 2003.

When I moved to the US, I continued working on the topic of the welcoming space and technology, and wrote the book on the notion of the matrix as connected to the welcoming space. It is called Hospitality of the Matrix: Philosophy, Biomedicine, and Culture and was published by Columbia University Press in 2012. The beginning of that book can be traced back to that time in Singapore and our collaborations with subRosa. In Singapore, unlike in Europe at the time, technology was not just a utopian or dystopian vision. I could bring my students to experience new technology, such as virtual reality or haptic devices, in NUS in 2002, so it was not just a fantasy. It was important for me to acknowledge that and reflect on our technological experiences in real-time, as well as to enable my students to look at it from artistic and critical humanist perspectives.

At that time, we discussed a lot about what it means to have access to technology. Who has access and who doesn't? This continues to inspire me and I'm still thinking about how our lives are not just affected by technology but also about what kind of creative interventions are possible.

You mentioned about the various things happening at that time in the early 2000s, like the interest in biotechnologies, the Nokia Cyberarts exhibition, as well as the Cyberarts and Cyberculture Research Initiative in NUS, all of which were part of or shaped the burgeoning media art landscape at that time. The insight to how things were like before may not be so easily gleaned especially with the lack of or difficulty of accessing documentation or a consolidated archive. It's a wonder to see the Tactical Media Lab website persisting and that's also how we've come to read more about the project.

Could you elaborate more about how you felt like the media landscape was in Singapore at that time, that may have enabled the initiation of projects such as Matrixial Technologies and other technologically-centred works?

There were artists who already worked with technology, such as Matthew Ngui and Amanda Heng. The artists in residence program in NUS was part of the Cyberarts and Cyberculture Research Initiative so I could bring NUS researchers in contact with artists. The Dean at that time was George Landow, who wrote (1992), the famous textbook on electronic poetry and literature, so he was very supportive and there was a lot of great energy among students and artists too. Charles Lim was also one of the first artists in residence whom I supported at NUS. He was developing one of his earlier works in new media as part of the programme.

As you know, Singapore then had a lot of technology, but it was not so easy to pair that technology with art because that required funding structures and institutional support. For example, NUS did not have an art department and no artists were working at the university. As part of the Cyberarts and Cyberculture Research Initiative (CRRI), I had to write the job description to hire artists-in-residence. When I wrote the job description, I made sure to include language that invited artists might not be necessarily trained in painting or other traditional art forms, or even have an art school degree. They might have a background in engineering or creative writing. I included that language so that university administrators would not just carry certain expectations of artists as working only in traditional art forms or media, like painting all day in their studio. They could use stem cell or wifi technologies in labs and engage with other technological and scientific materials. Providing platforms for the new and original trends in humanities and the arts is important, and at that time I considered writing those new job descriptions as important as my own scholarly work on the matrix. Singapore already had a lot of infrastructure and technology to support ground-breaking artworks, such as Margaret Tan's Virtual Reality art, and I wanted in my own modest way, to help make those connections so that art and technology collaboration would become possible. It was around that time also when the National Arts Council was setting up its funding frameworks.

At the University of Michigan where I'm currently at, different disciplines meet at one art and design school without any silos and departments, that separate us purely by the medium (painting, sculpture, graphic design, etc.). Our faculty and students can work in various media, as well as conduct various forms of creative research with collaborators from other schools, departments and outside the university. So, our students from early on could be proficient in various skills but more importantly, we want them to be leaders of their respective fields and invent new fields and their own forms of expression as they consider them important and needed. One form of art or design does not replace or retire another.

From the University Scholars Programme at NUS, I moved to ICM (Information and Communication Management) programme. When Professor Milagros Rivera became the head of department, it was renamed to Communication and New Media (CNM), in 2003. That's what I meant by structure. For projects to be supported and enabled, how you name yourself matters because you indicate the scope of work and then we enable certain practices to happen. So that was how that time was, many collaborations and a focus on educating the public and ourselves. Sometimes, within a community, how one relates to or defines media art and technology can vary across different generations. Today, it might not be as prevalent, but back then, we were arguing over words, like whether "cyberart" was the right term to use or was "new media" a better fit. Now, I'm happy that we don't fret so much over terminology, in 2020, and cyberfeminism is still as young as ever.

One of the funnier moments of that time I recollect was that Singapore Art Museum in 2001-2002 did not have computers to show artworks. And here we are bringing interactive virtual reality artworks which recreated C++ raw data from the Visible Human Project by NUS Engineering students who were really excited to work with the artist. So, we loaned computer screens and servers from NUS. We drove them in the back seat of a car and connected them there at the museum, luckily finding an electric outlet. The museum had no wifi or broadband connection in its galleries as well, and that's Singapore in 2002! This was before museums became more interactive or receptive to different forms of art. I know it is hard to imagine today that we had to bring computers from NUS to show Margaret Tan's work. There is now the Art Science Museum.

This project, Virtual Bodies in Reality by Margaret Tan, continues to come up in my own thinking and research, because I think that work was very significant but has not been written about yet as much as it deserves. So, I might come around and write about it soon, or team up with another researcher, because I think you were right, that we were so "go, go, go" all that time then, we didn't properly take the time to sit, document and archive what we were doing, or understand its historical significance. I am grateful that you found these texts and documentation about "Locating Cyberfeminism in Singapore" (2008) because we were busy then and now it's great to have this opportunity to reflect on these earlier projects.

Sure, I wanted to speak more about two practices which I wrote quite a bit about at that time, specifically about In terms of thinking about endings, as alluded to in the title of "Happy Endings" in the essay's title, it's a possibly different way of working because in Singapore, we cannot escape the pressure of productivity and the association of longevity with value. Productivity means being productive for a long, long time. Whereas, working within a short-term duration and a short-term situation that is always changing, that acknowledges finite resources and how the energy that we bring to projects is not boundless. We can see why it was liberating too because it was also a way of working that was protecting everyone on board. It defines the scope of the collaboration that your collaborators and you can do and alleviates some of the pressure of making sure that you create something that lasts indefinitely. Would you like to elaborate a bit more about your close collaborations with artists?

Saraswati Gramich's and Margaret Tan's works. If you look at Gramich's work, she was making quite delicate and ephemeral installations. The question that came up then was whether it was feminist or not. I always felt that the answer needed to be open and based on a self-definition, bringing it back to the artist's self-determination of how they want to define themselves. I always respect artists' own self-identification. That is why, for example, I would not call Marina Abramovich a feminist artist, for example, since she herself said, on many occasions, she was not. There was a notion of new beauty or delicate installations that Gramich was working in with close attention to her materials. I was very interested in a new beauty, as a feminist theorist of aesthetics and cyberfeminism. I could be inspired by her work, whether she called herself a feminist artist or not - and I respected her decision.

Lucy Lippard or Griselda Pollock also wrote about it, questioning, if there is some type of feminine difference? It's a contested idea that artistic style is connected to gender expression. I took it less as a question about gender but more about what was being privileged in the arts at each point of time - what kind of styles were dominant and who promoted that particular medium or style.

With Margaret Tan's work, she has an ongoing interest in technology, having written about smart cities and Singapore policy in relation to the notion of smartness. Her work continues to greatly interest me, whether it's academic work or earlier artworks.

For Text & Subtext (2000), curated by Binghui Huangfu, Margaret's work is on the cover of the publication and it was a work that was developed around the time of the Feminist Art Workshop. When Binghui approached me to write the essay for the catalogue , we had an interesting dialogue about what it meant to present an "Asian" perspective and who could assume that perspective. This question of identity in relation to technology is worth unpacking as well because of the assumption that technology is neutral, culturally speaking, and the same whether in Singapore, Russia or the US. Human-machine life is much more complicated as we have learned since then.

Back to the subject of collaboration, these collaborations were important for me and I hope it was productive for everyone who was involved. To end, I wanted to come back to Undercurrents, a global listserv, in which Singapore was an important node on the map of cyberfeminism. Margaret Tan and Adeline Kueh participated in that discussion on what it meant to have a global take on cyberfeminism as a movement, and I'm very grateful for our exchanges. Their ideas influenced me, I acknowledge that influence which continues through our ongoing, even if occasional, contact.

With the project Undercurrents, it was to think and reconcile with the idea of a global cyberfeminist network. On that note of thinking about cyberfeminism from the lens of both local and global contexts, Margaret Tan and you have also had a conversation about the attempt of locating cyberfeminism in Singapore.

The dialogue with Margaret Tan in 2008, specifically reflects on the collaboration between subRosa, who came to Singapore to work with yourself, Adeline Kueh, and Margaret Tan. One of the key points was trying to contextualise cyberfeminist artistic strategies within Singapore but also to foreground a feminist model of solidarity in cyberfeminist practice and theory. This attempt at contextualisation and trying to map out solidarity and affinities is important in also unpacking the assumption that many feminist discourses, including cyberfeminist theory, as a "Western" inheritance which you've also addressed earlier.

Rather, we would think that such manners of working with and around technology are multiply embarked across the world instead of subscribing to a hierarchical flow of "centre" and "margins" along a grand methodology. Could you share more with us your thoughts on this?

Your question considers the local and global, in relation to modes of collaboration. It also goes back to the structures that we are already situated within, and the immediate conditions of our lived realities. I am now situated in the US, but my everyday life, whether on Telegram or WhatsApp, is as much elsewhere as in the US. What you are alluding to, if I am not mistaken, to a pressure cooker that contemporary notion of productivity is in societies such as Singapore or the US, where technology is so interwoven into everyday life and has been for so long, with the government pushing it into new directions all the time, to continue being a leader in that area. As a result, digital citizens, due to necessity and not just out of their own choice, end up with a kind of a love-hate relationship with technology. As technophilic as it has been in Singapore, perhaps there has not been a better time to really pause and think about it, right now, in the pandemic, what we want in our everyday life.

My attitude and ideas about theory concerning feminism and technology as coming from the West have evolved too. Let me push back a little against this idea that those who consider themselves to be "non-Western," have to either react to, reject, or accept and assimilate in some form, "feminism" or "cyberfeminism" because Western (presumed often white) women started it. As your question also pushes back against this idea that there are those who are at the margins and those who are at the centre. It's a matter of changing our maps, our perspective, of the last few decades of shifting margins, centers, powers, movements. This is what the last 20 years have enabled, that people of varying privilege and connection can take on less hierarchical ways of thinking or working together. The "canon" or any other previous knowledge and history are relevant only to the extent that it helps you in your own spacetime and in your own body to be more empowered today than you've been, yesterday. Every good university I know is currently revising its curriculum and challenging what the "canon" is, especially the so-called "Western," canon in the arts and humanities, to make sure that what we teach is empowering to all our students, and not just those who've already been "at the centre."

Which is to say, I don't think that feminism is a Western invention. It's an invention of someone who wants to change things in their immediate environment, including gender structures, but also addressing other forms of oppression happening in society. I disagree about giving anyone ownership of these terms because if you are thinking about Black Lives Matter and the #metoo movement, the two most important social and cyber movements in the US in recent history, they were founded by queer African American artists, young activists and intellectuals. So, the idea that feminism is white or the theories we learn are all Western and white, as Margaret Tan explained, should not stop any of us from using them to our own benefit. It does not mean we must plainly accept this existing knowledge or scholarship, but there is so much more today to engage with, for example, this amazing work of Diana J Nucera (aka Mother Cyborg), a cyberfeminist, DJ and digital activist based in Detroit, USA. There is a lot more to choose from, whether in feminism or cyberfeminism.

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Mindspace is a conversation series that charts the conditions of various technology-informed art practices and practitioners in an attempt to present a working history of media art in Singapore. In our second conversation for Mindspace, we are hearing from Dr. Irina Aristarkhova, who is currently a Professor at the University of Michigan where she lectures and writes extensively on contemporary art, theory and digital studies.

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"Happy Endings: Engagements with Women Artists in Singapore" by Irina Aristarkhova in Domain Errors: Cyberfeminist Practices (2003)

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"Happy Endings: Engagements with Women Artists in Singapore" by Irina Aristarkhova in Domain Errors: Cyberfeminist Practices (2003)

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http://www.refugia.net/domainerrors/DE3d_singapore.pdf

With reference to the practices of Amanda Heng, Margaret Tan, and Saraswati Gramich.

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Eng Tow (Eng studied art at the Nanyang Academy of Fine Arts (NAFA) in SingaporeAfter obtaining her master's degree in 1974,In 1981, Eng relocated back to Singapore.Throughout her artistic career, Eng has been both an artist and an educator. Between 1976 and 1981, she lectured at various institutions in the UK - Buckinghamshire College of Higher Education,Eng's art has been described as intense and she constantly strives to push the boundaries of her artistic knowledge and style as well as the materials she uses.Most of Eng's works reveal her passion for nature, 6. National University of Singapore Museum. (2015, March 2). 17. National Heritage Board. (2015, October 23). 18. Wee, C. (1981, October 8). 19. Eng, T. (n.d.). 22. Eng, T. (n.d.). 25. Gibson, E. (1991, May 27). Eclectic Singapore art survey misses the mark. 32. Lim, R. (1990). 40. Huang, L. J. (2015, November 10). Welcoming wings. via NLB's eResources website: 43. Lim, R. (1990). 53. Eng, T. (n.d.). 55. Eng, T. (n.d.). 58. Eng, T. (n.d.). 59. National Arts Council. (n.d.). 63. United Overseas Bank. (2004). The 23rd UOB painting of the year competition - 2004. Retrieved 2016, August 15 from UOB website: http://www.uob.com.sg/assets/pdfs/poy2004_annex2.pdfKwok, K. W., Arun M., & Sasitharan, T. (Eds.). (2002). Tan, S. Y. (2003). b. 1 October 1947, Singapore-1) has been lauded as one of Singapore's most outstanding local female artists of the 1980s. 2 She began her career as a tapestry artist working with different textiles 6 and then left for England to further her studies. 7 Upon completing her foundation studies at the Coventry College of Art in 1969, she was admitted to the Winchester School of Art in Hampshire. 8 She graduated in 1972 with a Bachelor of Arts with first-class honours, Career 9 and went on to the Royal College of Art in London 12 Eng worked in London as a freelance textile designer for several years, selling her works to companies such as Courtaulds and Designers Guild. 13 Her designs were represented in Europe and the United States. 14 With a grant from the Crafts Council, Eng set up a workshop with fellow artists and craftsmen in 1977, teaching, exhibiting and designing in various parts of the United Kingdom (UK). 16 In her home country, she kept herself busy with numerous contracts including creating works for the Land Transport Authority (LTA), 17 working with interior designers and designing endpapers, book covers, tapestries, furniture and accessories, as well as theatre props and sets. 20 Trent Polytechnic, West Surrey College of Art, and University of London Goldsmiths College. She was also a visiting lecturer at the National University of Singapore's School of Architecture in 1988. 21 From 1996 to 1999, she served as an adjunct staff member at the Curtin University of Technology's School of Art in Perth, Australia. This was followed by a stint as the course supervisor for Curtin University in their Singapore campus in 2000. In that same year, she was also a member of the Foundation Course Advisory Committee for the LASALLE-SIA College of the Arts in Singapore. 22 Stylistic conventions
Eng is known for her textile paintings, or "cloth reliefs", 23 some of which have won critical acclaim. The Washington Times considered her cloth piece "White on White" (1983), which was part of a travelling exhibition in the United States (US) in 1991, 28 For some of her paintings, the brushes were made traditionally out of chopsticks and bamboo leaves. 29 Her work process is laborious, and a piece may take many months before it is completed - a reflection of her desire to constantly explore where her materials can take her. 30 31 as she has stated: "My present inclination is to be as simple, fresh and natural as possible; to express myself as directly as a child's first drawing so that the conception and execution approach fusion when I put a mark on paper". 32 24 a work that represented a modest reinvention of conventional art media. Wall Hangings, 21 Antiques Gallery, London, UK. 33 25 Although her early career revolved around textiles, she started developing an interest in printmaking and papermaking in the 1980s. 26 Since then, her works have revealed a mixed-medium and interdisciplinary approach. 27 18 In 1990, Eng held papermaking workshops at the National University of Singapore's School of Architecture, and in the following year, conducted plant-drawing workshops for children at the 1992: Reflections, The Gallery, 2015: Grains of Thought, Asian Civilisations Museum, Singapore. Selected group exhibitions
1974: Degree Show & Convocation, Royal College of Art, London, UK. 1975: Textprint II, The Design Centre, London, UK. 41 40 1978: Exhibition of Contemporary Quilts, The American Museum, Somerset, UK. 1979: Tapestries of Today, Contemporary Art Society, Reed House, London, UK. 1979: Homespun to Highspeed: A Century of British Design, Mappin Art Gallery, Sheffield, UK. 1980: Contemporary British Crafts, Sotheby's, London, UK, and Munich, Germany. 1981: Textilkunst, Institut für Kunstlerische Textilgestaltung, Linz, Austria. 1982: British Needlework, National Museum of Modern Art, Japan. 1983: Summer Show, British Crafts Centre, London, UK. Fort Canning Centre, Singapore. 39 Singapore Botanic Gardens. 19 1988: Choice Objects, UK. 1989: Washi Workshop 1989, Tokushima, Japan. 15 10 to pursue a Master of Arts. 11 3 but later ventured into other art forms such as printmaking and papermaking. 4 Her works have received critical acclaim both locally and overseas. 1995-1996: International Paper Symposium, Kyoto, Japan. 5
2001: Chinese Whispers, The Study Gallery, Dorset, UK.
2002-2003: Singapore Modern Art in the 1970s, Singapore Art Museum, Singapore. 56 2010: Singapore in Southeast Asia: Constructed Landscapes, National University of Singapore Museum, NUS Centre for the Arts, Singapore. 2014: A Changed World: Singapore Art 1950s-1970s, National Museum of Singapore. Awards and fellowships
1977: New Craftsmen's Grant, Crafts Council, UK. 1978: The British Crafts Award (Tex), Telegraph Sunday Magazine, UK. 61 1986: Fellowship, Asian Cultural Council, US. 62 1989: Fellowship, Japan Foundation, Japan. 63 1991: Artist Residency, Curtin University, Western Australia. 64

Author 60 59

References
South and Southeast Asia Collection. Retrieved 2016, August 15 from National University of Singapore website: http://www.nus.edu.sg/cfa/museum/asia.php A textile print by Eng Tow. Retrieved 2016, August 15 from Roots website: https://roots.sg/learn/collections/listing/2006-01447 Eng Tow, fabric designer: My two rooms. Eng Tow. Retrieved 2016, August 16 from Eng Tow website: http://www.engtow-artist.com/work.htmlSelves: The state of the arts in Singapore. Singapore: National Arts Council. Eng Tow. Retrieved 2016, August 16 from Eng Tow website: http://www.engtow-artist.com/work.html The Washington Times. Retrieved from Factiva via NLB's eResources website: Singapore artists speak. Singapore: C.H. Yeo, p. 148. (Call no.: RSING 709.5957 SIN) The Straits Times. Retrieved from Factiva Art in transit: North East Line MRT - Singapore. Singapore: Land Transport Authority. http://eresources.nlb.gov.sg/Singapore artists speak. Singapore: C.H. Yeo, p. 151. (Call no.: RSING 709.5957 SIN) Eng Tow. Retrieved 2016 August 16 from Eng Tow website: http://www.engtow-artist.com/exhibitions.html

The information in this article is valid as at 2016 and correct as far as we are able to ascertain from our sources. It is not intended to be an exhaustive or complete history of the subject. Please contact the Library for further reading materials on the topic. Eng Tow. Retrieved 2016, August 16 from Eng Tow website: http://www.engtow-artist.com/exhibitions.html Eng Tow. Retrieved 2016, August 16 from Eng Tow website: http://www.engtow-artist.com/exhibitions.html Singapore's visual artists: Part 2 (Artists A-F). Retrieved 2016, August16 from National Arts Council website: https://www.nac.gov.sg/singaporeartsscene/visualarts/SVA.html

41. Lim, R. (1990). Singapore artists speak. Singapore: C.H. Yeo, p. 151. (Call no.: RSING 709.5957 SIN)

http://eresources.nlb.gov.sg/

The Straits Times,p. 5; Chua, R. (1984, November 3). A salute to teamwork. The Straits Times,p. 1; Fish skin, coconut shells, coral... blend them m your living room. (1989, July 16). The Straits Times, p. 13; Holmberg, J. (1988, February 29). Spectacle in the park. The Straits Times, p. 27. Retrieved from NewspaperSG.

Adlina Maulod

(Call no.: RCLOS EPHE P46)

(Call no.: RSING 700.95957 SEL)

(Call no.: RSING 747.8531 TAN)

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Eng Tow (b. 1 October 1947, Singapore–) has been lauded as one of Singapore’s most outstanding local female artists of the 1980s. She began her career as a tapestry artist working with different textiles but later ventured into other art forms such as printmaking and papermaking. Her works have rece…

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Concerned Citizens Programme: Millennial Actress by Jaclyn Chong (2020)

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Concerned Citizens Programme: Millennial Actress by Jaclyn Chong (2020)

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https://millennial-actress-ccp.peatix.com/
https://www.substation.org/concerned-citizens-2019

In the age of female empowerment and the #MeToo movement, what is it like to be an actress? What does it mean to be vulnerable? Drawing from film references, academic articles, Facebook posts, #pov videos on TikTok, case studies, questions and more questions, ‘Millennial Actress’ looks at the female performing body, trauma, and the creative process. Is it fair to ask someone to traumatise (or re-traumatise) themselves for the sake of art? What is the difference between discomfort and a boundary?

Jaclyn Chong is a freelance performance-maker. She is a recent graduate from the Theatre Studies programme at the National University of Singapore. As a Southeast Asian studies minor, Jaclyn believes engaging with the arts is a necessary form of social consciousness. Her works explore the boundaries between moving image and performance, probing into representations of the body.

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Concerned Citizens Programme: Millennial Actress

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Millennial ActressA performance-lecture by Jaclyn Chong22 Mar 2020, Sunday7 - 8pmThe... powered by Peatix : More than a ticket.

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︎This Must Be The Place

This Must Be The Place, Echoes and The Diamond Sea showed at the Sewing Discord exhibition at Jendela, Esplanade, Singapore, April - August 2021.

All works are for sale. Please email to enquire which pieces are still available ︎

This body of work explores the relationship between visibility and the value of labour in three bodies of work created using the craft techniques of weaving, yarn-spinning and latch hook embroidery. The "circuit breaker" lockdown and the imposition of work-from-home arrangements in Singapore as a result of the COVID-19 pandemic shifted perceptions of space and time. In response to these profound changes, I began creating (This Must Be The Place, Echoes and The Diamond Sea), sculptures and assemblages inspired by the room divider or Shoji screen which is traditionally used in homes to divide a living space into private (unseen) and common (seen) areas. The notion of the screen, and its symbolic separation of the domestic and the public, also serves as a metaphor for the often unseen physical and emotional labour of women in the home. By employing domestic craft techniques commonly used to create decorative objects like wall hangings and foot rugs found at home, I aim to challenge perceptions of what craft is associated with.

About The Exhibition
Sewing Discord is an exhibition that brings together 5 artists/designers whose creative approaches incorporate aspects of crafting technologies such as weaving, embroidery, origami and cross-stitching. Whilst interrogating other mediums such as painting, sculpture an architectural forms, their use of craft as a methodology is one that seeks to reinterpret the position of craft in the hierarchy of visual culture. Commonly seen as a medium used by women in domesticated spaces - it is devoid of power and strength and one that is perceive as purely decorative and trivial.

Whether they are using personal narratives as an anchor point or negotiating visual forms through the lenses of sculpture or painting, craft as a method is meant to raise conversations about the unspoken, unseen and invisible. In many ways, th artists intend for the craft technique/s used to create deceptions of craft's commonplace meanings and allusions. Thus, Sewing Discord is meant to draw one's stereotypical perception of craft and seeks to thwart and upset the meanings it had come to possess.

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This Must Be The Place - Ginette Chittick - Visual Artist

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︎This Must Be The Place This Must Be The Place, Echoes and The Diamond Sea showed at the Sewing Discord exhibition at Jendela, Esplanade, Singapore, April - August 2021. All works are for sale.

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https://aestheticsofcare.com Aesthetics of Care is a research project by researchers and artists Hazel Lim and Ginette Chittick. Situating domestic craft in contemporary art practices, the two women investigate the place and legacy of domestic craft, heritage, and ethnography in the materials, processes, and works.

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Interdisciplinary practice established in 2007 by Regina De Rozario and Seah Sze Yunn.

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Sewing Discord exhibition @Jendela Gallery, Esplanade (2021)

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Sewing Discord exhibition @Jendela Gallery, Esplanade (2021)

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Artists: Ginette Chittick, Hazel Lim, Jodi Tan, Berny Tan, Nature Shankar

Jendela (Visual Arts Space)
16 April - 4 July 2021

Craft has occupied an ambivalent and debatable position in the fields of art and design. Its materials, techniques and processes have been commonly associated with the domestic and the ornamental. Sewing Discord brings together five artists—Ginette Chittick, Hazel Lim, Nature Shankar, Berny Tan and Jodi Tan—whose creative approaches incorporate craft techniques such as weaving, origami, yarn spinning, embroidery and latch hooking. While paying homage to the rich legacies of diverse craft traditions, the exhibition also looks at how craft could become a cogent tool for discourse, with the artists harnessing techniques as methodologies for formal and material exploration to investigate and present personal and
shared narratives. Embedded in the works are the aesthetics of care, manifested in subject matter or embodied in the gestures and processes of artmaking.

Sewing Discord brings conversations surrounding notions of value, labour and visibility in relation to craft to the foreground and seeks to destabilise and reframe conventional perceptions of craft in contemporary visual culture.

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Joyful MilitancyBuilding Thriving Resistance in Toxic Times - carla bergman and Nick Montgomery

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Joyful MilitancyBuilding Thriving Resistance in Toxic Times - carla bergman and Nick Montgomery

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Foreword by Hari Alluri

Willing to be Troubled: an essay with a love note to Gil Scott-Heron

We've all heard so many conflicting words

About life, whether wrong or right

How you gotta be workin' hard

And it ain't no easy job

To survive. Just keep it alive

-Gil Scott-Heron, "Willing"

Like the moment when I first heard Gil Scott-Heron, I knew upon first read that I would return to this book. The isolations of capitalism and the despairs of facing Empire's increasingly blatant yet always insidious machinations, oppressions, and attacks will drive me to seek the reminders that are here: of how to recognize my own moments of rigidity, and of how to recognize-beside, within, and far from me-moments of transformation. Though written by two white folks with deeply different experiences than Gil-folks who crucially implicate not just their privileges but also their behaviors-this book, like the song "Willing" quoted above, offers the echoes of sparks that pull me through lamentation towards reflection and action. Against the types of moments that, within movements, can lead to a "loss of collective power," both song and book offer me images of radical folks engaged in outright and everyday acts of resistance. They let me glance back, not nostalgically but gladly, at the faces of folks in my own communities actively supporting each other in radical friendships and lives whose resemblance to mainstream representations of happiness is only cursory: because there is a strength I see there that comes from-as carla bergman and Nick Montgomery identify it-the type of joy that looks and feels like growing more powerful together.

This book troubles the second line of Gil Scott-Heron's "Willing," a song which, like much of his most powerful and resonant work, itself carries an air of troubling. Joyful Militancy called me back to this song and also through it because the project of this book is to move beyond "wrong or right" into a space of ethical questioning that is always already conflicting yet, while shifting, can also be strong ground on which to build. As bergman and Montgomery identify in their Introduction, "rigid radicalism" stifles productive tension and risk taking by tending "towards mistrust and fixed ways of relating that destroy the capacity to be responsive, creative, and experimental." They continue astutely, refusing to fix "joyful militancy" as an ideal, thinking of it instead as "a fierce commitment to emergent forms of life in the cracks of Empire, and the values, responsibilities, and questions that sustain them." The structure and focus of the book are both attentive to moments of slippage and to regenerative practices. Because of this, I recall again listening to Gil Scott-Heron. I am thinking now of live versions of songs played with a full band that slip into and out of long and beautiful minutes of improvisation, especially versions of "The Bottle" in which Gil identifies the rhythm as Guan Guanco, "the rhythm of rebirth and regeneration" that survived the middle passage, a rhythm whose timing, like Gil's lyric tenacity from "The Revolution Will Not Be Televised" through "The Bottle" to "Willing" and beyond, can be troubling even as it cycles. One of the most powerful elements of Joyful Militancy is its commitment to remaining ever troubled: because no single program can give us the comfort of handing over to it the burdens of the work itself; because to remain troubled is to sustain a space of movement; because so many movements offer examples of a potential beauty that is itself improvised and cyclical.

This book is about connections, about echoes. It is built, as "Willing" is, on an acknowledgment of uninterrupted survival and resistance. In choosing examples of movements and moments in which people offer everyday and organized versions of joyful militancy, bergman and Montgomery remind us that, despite all attempts to eradicate dissent, despite genocides and pogroms and police attacks and surveillance and micro-aggressions and the myriad ways in which we hurt each other, we are uninterrupted. We are always already in conversation with movements and moments of the past that were themselves about growing more powerful together, having each others' backs, resisting corrosive practices while retrieving supportive ones, choosing to work and grow in friendships less rusted by the imperatives of capitalism and Empire: "There are-and there always have been-many places and spaces where alternatives are in full bloom."

Crucially, this book begins inside movement spaces, spaces in which critiques of colonization, capitalism, and Empire already exist: bergman and Montgomery are not set out to convince a non-radicalized audience of the need to resist. Rather, combining rigor with accessibility, they affirm the lineages and contemporary currents of radical thought and practice they draw from while acknowledging the historical violences that made and make them necessary. Echoing Rebecca Solnit, they state, "Everyday life under Empire is already a certain kind of disaster." In a time when "anarchist" is treated by too many as an empty epithet, in a time when the most vulnerable communities are being targeted with cruelty, they openly state that "for joy to flourish, it needs sharp edges."

This book's opening urge is to respond to the affective imperatives of what the authors term rigid radicalism:

It is the pleasure of feeling more radical than others and the worry about not being radical enough; the sad comfort of sorting unfolding events into dead categories; the vigilant perception of errors and complicities in oneself and others; the anxious posturing on social media and the highs of being liked and the lows of being ignored; the suspicion and resentment felt in the presence of something new; the way curiosity feels naïve and condescension feels right.

Affect is easily one of the more under-attended drivers of recent world events beyond and within movements and it may also be among the most crucial spaces of intervention. The description above reminds me of despair, the despair I felt at times from Gil Scott-Heron that ached and aches me the most. At times, Gil seems to despair that his audience does not quite hear, does not quite grasp his message. It is precisely my own potential for this specific type of despair that I feel bergman and Montgomery help me combat, because it is a form of despair that is to the benefit of Empire. It is a despair which, in my experience, leads to isolation. When Gil passed on, friends, most of whom I had first met through different movements and organizations, reached out. I experienced a solidarity from them that was joyful in the sense of being co-realized, even as I was steeped in grief at the loss of an ancestor. As bergman and Montgomery note, "The self-enclosed individual is a fiction of Empire, just like the State. 'I' am already a crowd, enmeshed in others."

More widely, in conversation and collaboration with friends, with folks of divergent yet in-solidarity movements, they offer invocations instead of correctives. The authors accurately declare that ancient ways of growing more powerful together are always alive in the experiments of our activisms and our lives. bergman and Montgomery have at the same time a deep sense of how differences are necessary-of how specific oppressions we have faced position us to question, to offer that which other positions cannot-and of how our movements have built and can build from the small overlaps and resonances, not just because we all carry multiple identities but because certain common notions as well as differences we hold can bring us to have each others' backs.

bergman and Montgomery move by questions and attempts at response, noting how "common notions can only be held gently, as flexible, living ideas that are powerful in and through the relationships and processes they sustain." They converse with Black liberation, anti-violence, queer, youth, anarchist, and Indigenous resurgence movements. Theirs is something of a poetics: reminders and troublings of that which is always already present, whether in terms of the rigid radicalism that so often decays relationships within and between movements or in terms of identifying, supporting and learning from moments and movements of empowered and empowering resistance. They offer a reading and imagining of empowerment that is Spinoza-inflected, anarchist-inflected, solidarity-inflected joy. Noting their own process, they acknowledge, "Neither of us could have written this book, or anything like it, alone. And the collaboration has made us each more capable, in different ways, together."

As I write this, my love-after a morning drawing fists on butcher paper to paste to placards-has gotten to her sister's to help their mom with caregiving for the babies. Her militancy, while divergent from the politics of some of her family, is steeped in an ethic of invitation and sharing that she learned from them and, right now, our niece is coloring in a cutout of a brown fist almost as large as her. This is another version of the troubled and beautiful messiness that bergman and Montgomery remind me of in Joyful Militancy. I am thankful for it even as I sit with my grief at the present political moment and my urge to activate and be activated by those I love and those I've never met who, though far, are never quite distant.

Lolo, thank you for offering me moments of militant experimentation and troubled joy. For your work's anticipation of the growth of anti-apartheid solidarity with the people of South Africa. For when, decades later, many took to social media to reach out to you and, still willing in your final year of life, you heard their call and took up anti-apartheid solidarity with the people of Palestine. For so many moments that preceded them, moved between them, and followed them-moments of insight, moments of despair, moments of joy. At times, my most urgent desire is to feel untroubled. Thank you for divesting me from it over and over. Here, Gil, are some words that trouble me and offer me hope, some words that, like your words below, in shifting from individual to collective, in invoking the work and joy of generations, move me to tears: "For us at least, there is no cure, no gas mask, no unitary solution: there are only openings, searchings, and the collective discovery of new and old ways of moving that let in fresh air. For the same reason that no one is immune, anyone can participate in its undoing."

Love,

Hari Alluri, on Kumeyaay land, January 20, 2017.

What my life really means is that the songs that I sing

Are just pieces of a dream that I've been building

And we can make a stand and hey, I'm reachin' out my hand

'Cause I know damn well we can if we are willing

But we gotta be ...

Introduction

There are no new ideas. There are only new ways of making them felt.

-Audre Lorde[1]

People who talk about revolution and class struggle without referring explicitly to everyday life, without understanding what is subversive about love and what is positive in the refusal of constraints-such people have a corpse in their mouth.

-Raoul Vaneigem[2]

Do not think that one has to be sad in order to be a militant, even though the thing one is fighting is abominable.

-Michel Foucault[3]

I

This book is an attempt to amplify some quiet conversations that have been happening for a long time, about the connections between resisting and thriving, about how we relate to each other in radical movements today, and about some of the barriers to collective transformation.

There is something that circulates in many radical movements and spaces, draining away their transformative potential. Anyone who has frequented these spaces has felt it. Many (including us) have actively participated in it, spread it, and been hurt by it. It nurtures rigidity, mistrust, and anxiety precisely where we are supposed to feel most alive. It compels us to search ourselves and others ruthlessly for flaws and inconsistencies. It crushes experimentation and curiosity. It is hostile to difference, complexity, and nuance. Or it is the most complex, the most nuanced, and everyone else is simplistic and stupid. Radicalism becomes an ideal and everyone becomes deficient in comparison.

The anxious posturing, the vigilant search for mistakes and limitations, the hostility that crushes a hesitant new idea, the way that critique becomes a reflex, the sense that things are urgent yet pointless, the circulation of the latest article tearing apart bad habits and behaviors, the way shaming others becomes comfortable, the ceaseless generation of necessities and duties, the sense of feeling guilty about one's own fear and loneliness, the clash of political views that requires a winner and a loser, the performance of anti-oppressive language, the way that some stare at the floor or look at the door. We know these tendencies, intimately. We have seen them circulating, and felt them pass through us.

When we began talking with friends about this, there were immediate head nods, and sometimes excited eruptions-"YES! Finally someone is going to talk about this publicly!" No one knew exactly what it was or where it came from, but many knew exactly what we were talking about. Like us, they had felt it and participated in it. They had discussed it quietly and carefully with people they trusted. But it was hard to unpack, for a whole bunch of reasons. To complain or criticize it came with the risk of being attacked, shamed, or cast out. This phenomenon is difficult to talk about because it presents itself as the most radical, the most anti-oppressive, the most militant. It shape-shifts and multiplies itself: sometimes it appears as one rigid line, at other times as a proliferation of positions, arrayed against each other. How is it that explicitly radical, anti-oppressive, or anti-authoritarian spaces-the places where people should feel most alive and powerful-can sometimes feel cold, stifling, and rigid? What contributes to a climate in which one is never radical enough, where we have to continually prove our radicalness to others? What makes insecurity, distrust, anxiety, guilt, and shame so pervasive? Where does all this come from? What is this thing? Is it one thing, or many? What activates it, stokes it, and how can it be warded off?

We are not the first to try to get ahold of this phenomenon. It has gone by many names-sad militancy, grumpywarriorcool, manarchism, puritanism-each of which emphasizes different elements and sources. In this book, we call it rigid radicalism. Our research and experience lead us to think that its origins are as diverse as the phenomenon itself. Some say rigid radicalism comes from the way heteropatriarchy poisons intimacy with trauma and violence, while separating politics from everyday life. Others point to origins in the narcissistic and guilt-ridden individualism nurtured by whiteness. Or it is the way schooling replaces creativity and curiosity with conformity and evaluation. Or the humiliation of a life organized by capitalism, in which we are all pitted in petty competitions with each other. Or the way cynicism evolves from attempts to avoid pain and failure. Or it is identity politics fused with neoliberalism. And the terror and anxiety of a world in crisis. And the weakening of movements and a decline in militancy. Or it is the existence of radical milieus as such. And the deep insecurity nurtured by social media and its injunction to public performance. Or it is morality, or ideology, or the Left, or the Maoists, or the nihilists, or the moralists, or the ghost of Lenin. Probably there is some truth to all of these: it is definitely a tangled web.

It is important to say, from the outset, that we do not think the problem is simply anger, conflict, or difference. Whenever people name and challenge oppression and violence, there are almost always reactionaries telling them they are doing it wrong, that they need to be polite, nice, reasonable, peaceful, or patient. We want nothing to do with attempts to regulate resistance.

For this reason, we do not believe rigid radicalism can be countered by inventing a new set of norms for how to behave, or setting out a new ideal of what radicalism should be. There can be no instructions. This would just create a new ideal to measure ourselves against. It would just add to a long list of shoulds, dos, and don'ts that reactivates the problem. We hope to help undo tendencies towards regulation and policing, rather than playing into them.

Maybe we are stoking rigid radicalism right now, in writing about it. Searching out its roots and inner workings can recreate a stifling atmosphere where we feel like we are stuck, always lacking, always messing up, with no escape. Pointing to shame, rigidity, guilt, competition, or anxiety does not make them go away, and might make things worse. It is not a question of revealing the fact that we don't treat each other well sometimes, or that movements can turn in on themselves; we know this already. These tendencies are a public secret: widely known, but difficult to talk about.[4] Tracing origins might not tell us much about what to do here and now. It is not about a few bad apples, or a few bad behaviors. For us at least, it cannot be reduced to those people over there, because we feel it arise in ourselves as well. There is no way to purify our movements of these tendencies, because the desire for purity is part of the problem.

So our project is not about being against rigid radicalism. We have become convinced that rigid radicalism cannot be countered by critique alone. Our critique and interrogation are a way of asking: how can we be otherwise? What makes it possible to activate something different? How to protect the something different once it gains traction? How to share experiences of places and spaces where something different is already taking place-where people feel more alive and capable?

The first step, for us, has been to affirm that we are already otherwise: we all have parts of ourselves that are drawn towards other ways of being. Everyone has glimmers, at least, of the ways that fierceness can be intertwined with kindness, and curiosity with transformation. Every space is a complex ecology of different tendencies. Rigid radicalism is always only one tendency among others. There are-and always have been-many places and spaces where alternatives are in full bloom. Beyond merely diagnosing or combating rigid radicalism, we seek to affirm the multiplicity of ways that spaces can be otherwise.

Questions

This is part of what we have been talking about with people: What makes radical spaces and movements feel transformative and creative, rather than dogmatic, rule-bound, or stifling? What sustains struggles, spaces, and forms of life where we become capable of living and fighting in new ways? What supports people's capacities to challenge each other and undo deeply ingrained habits, rather than just saying the "right" thing or avoiding the "wrong" thing? How are people carving out relationships based in trust, love, and responsibility amid the violence that permeates daily life? What sustains these worlds-what makes them thrive?

With so much destruction in motion, this might all sound naïve to some readers: why speak of thriving and love when there are so many massive, urgent problems that need to be confronted? To write about the potential of trust and care, at this time in history, could seem like grasping optimistically at straws as the world burns. But durable bonds and new complicities are not a reprieve or an escape; they are the very means of undoing Empire.

We use "Empire" to name the organized destruction under which we live. Through its attempt to render everything profitable and controllable, Empire administers a war with other forms of life. The rhythms it imposes are at once absorptive and isolating. Even when this war takes the apparently subtle forms of assimilation and control, it is backed by brutal violence. Prisons and cops lurk alongside discourses of inclusion and tolerance. Empire works to monopolize the whole field of life, crushing autonomy and inducing dependence.

At the same time, there are cracks everywhere. A basic premise of this book is that resistance and transformation are always in the making at the margins, while Empire is always adapting and reacting. All of its mechanisms of control have been invented as responses to the constant upwelling of resistance, autonomy, and insurrection. This upwelling is a struggle not only against external domination, but against Empire's control over identities, desires, and relationships. Undoing Empire also means undoing oneself. This is never a purely negative undoing, because it also means becoming capable of something new.

We are convinced that what is needed is an activation and affirmation of other ways of being. Not a new norm, but the exploration of new (and old) capacities. This book explores some of these capacities alongside the ways that people are transforming their own situations without governments or hierarchical institutions. The capacity to treat each other well is connected, we think, to movements that nurture autonomy, trust, responsibility, and the collective power that is palpable when people are able to participate more fully in life. Amidst and beyond barricades and Molotovs there are new forms of care and belonging, quiet and humble forms of support. There are emergent sensibilities based in listening, curiosity, and experimentation. There are reconnections with subjugated traditions and practices. There is hatred of the forces that threaten all this, and a willingness to fight. Some have been nurturing these capacities for a long time; others are just beginning to explore them. For this reason, rather than just dwelling in the pervasiveness of rigid radicalism or Empire, here we are exploring, celebrating, and connecting with other ways of being-other thriving forms of resistance and struggle.

Affirmative theory

In many currents of radicalism-especially certain strains of Marxism-radical theory tasks itself with directing the course of struggle, pointing the way forward, or handing down instructions and fixed ways of being. This kind of theory generates necessities or suggestions to be implemented. Theory directs practice. Either this, or theory is tasked with critique of the world, of practice, and of other theories: it is supposed to reveal the limits of current struggles, discover the mistakes and flawed ways of doing or thinking, or reveal the root of oppression. Often, both these modes of theory generate positions defined in opposition to others. They give us things to be for or against.

But there are other modes of theory. Theory can also explore connections and ask open-ended questions. It can affirm and elaborate on something people already intuit or sense. It can celebrate and inspire, it can move. We want a kind of theory that participates in struggle and the growth of shared power, rather than directing it or evaluating it from outside. We are after a kind of theory that is critical but also affirmative. Rather than pointing to the limits or shortcomings of movements and declaring what they should do, affirmative theory hones in on the most transformative edges and margins.

In writing this book, we've been influenced by many divergent voices and movements, and we want to value them all. We combine weighty philosophical concepts with conversations, and draw on zines, academic articles and books, speeches, and interviews. Furthermore, we think there's a lot to be said for bringing things together in unforeseen ways that might intensify their aliveness and dynamism. This entails asking and provoking questions, many of which we leave open and unresolved throughout the book. For us, the most compelling questions are those that can be answered in a multiplicity of ways, in different situations.

One of our basic premises is that transformative potentials are always already present and emergent. Not only can things be otherwise; they already are, and it is a matter of tuning, tending, activating, connecting, and defending these processes of change that are already in the making. People are always enacting alternatives to the dominant order of things, however small, and there are always new connections and potentials to explore. We see this kind of sensibility happening in currents of feminism, queer theory, Black liberation, Indigenous resurgence, youth liberation, anarchism, autonomism, and radical ecology, among others, and we seek to affirm these movements and practices throughout the book.

But this is tricky: how are we to affirm and explore spaces where something transformative is taking place without holding them up as ideals to imitate, or telling others to be a certain way? What we are after is not a new critique or new position, but a process. Not a new direction for movements, but the process of movement itself, and the growth of creativity, struggle, experimentation, and collective power.

Joy and the Spinozan current

To reduce these problems to a complete and final analysis would be to miss the point. The best thing would be an informal discussion capable of bringing about the subtle magic of wordplay.

It is a real contradiction to talk of joy seriously.

-Alfredo Bonanno[5]

Pursuing these questions took us on a long detour through a minor current of Western philosophy associated with Baruch Spinoza. Against the grain of European thought that sought to subdue life through rigid dualisms and classifications, Spinoza conceptualized a world in which everything is interconnected and in process.

This worldview meant that Spinoza was despised by most of his contemporaries, but his ideas have influenced numerous currents of radical theory and practice, including anarchism, autonomous Marxism, affect theory, deep ecology, psychoanalysis, post-structuralism, queer theory, and even neuroscience. We are drawing on a current that runs from Spinoza through Friedrich Nietzsche, Gustav Landauer, Michel Foucault, and Gilles Deleuze to contemporary radicals like the Invisible Committee, Colectivo Situaciones, Lauren Berlant, Michael Hardt, and Antonio Negri. What we have found exciting about this current is the focus on processes through which people become more alive, more capable, and more powerful together. For Spinoza, the whole point of life is to become capable of new things, with others. His name for this process is joy.

Joy? What? Doesn't joy just mean happiness, with some vaguely Christian undertones? Later we'll be more precise about joy, but for now we want to be clear that it is not the same thing as happiness. A joyful process of transformation might involve happiness, but it tends to entail a whole range of feelings at once: it might feel overwhelming, painful, dramatic and world-shaking, or subtle and uncanny. Joy rarely feels comfortable or easy, because it transforms and reorients people and relationships. Rather than the desire to exploit, control, and direct others, it is resonant with emergent and collective capacities to do things, make things, undo painful habits, and nurture enabling ways of being together.[6]

Moreover, Spinoza's concept of joy is not an emotion at all, but an increase in one's power to affect and be affected. It is the capacity to do and feel more. As such, it is connected to creativity and the embrace of uncertainty. Within the Spinozan current, there is no way to determine what is right and good for everyone. It is not a moral philosophy, with a fixed idea of good and evil. There is no recipe for life or struggle. There is no framework that works in all places, at all times. What is transformative in one context might be useless or stifling in another. What worked once might become stale, or, on the other hand, the recovery of old memories and traditions might be enlivening. So does this mean anything goes? People just do what they want? Rejecting universal arbiters like morality and the state doesn't mean falling into "chaos" or "total relativity." The space beyond fixed and established orders, structures, and morals is not one of disorder: it is the space of emergent orders, values, and forms of life.

Joyful militancy and emergent powers

When people come into contact with their own power-with their capacity to participate in something life-giving-they often become more militant. Militancy is a loaded word for some, evoking images of machismo and militarism. For us, militancy means combativeness and a willingness to fight, but fighting might look like a lot of different things. It might mean the struggle against internalized shame and oppression; fierce support for a friend or loved one; the courage to sit with trauma; a quiet act of sabotage; the persistence to recover subjugated traditions; drawing lines in the sand; or simply the willingness to risk. We are intentionally bringing joy and militancy together, with the aim of thinking through the connections between fierceness and love, resistance and care, combativeness and nurturance.

When people find themselves genuinely supported and cared for, they are able to extend this to others in ways that seemed impossible or terrifying before. When people find their bellies filled and their minds sharpened among communal kitchens and libraries, hatred for capitalist ways of life grows amid belonging and connection. When someone receives comfort and support from friends, they find themselves willing to confront the abuse they have been facing. When people develop or recover a connection to the places where they live, they may find themselves standing in front of bulldozers to protect that place. When people begin to meet their everyday needs through neighborhood assemblies and mutual aid, all of a sudden they are willing to fight the police, and the fight deepens bonds of trust and solidarity. Joy can be contagious and dangerous.

All over the world, there are stories of people who find themselves transformed through the creation of other forms of life: more capable, more alive, and more connected to each other, and willing to defend what they are building. In our conversations with others from a variety of currents and locations, we have become increasingly convinced that the most widespread, long-lasting, and fierce struggles are animated by strong relationships of love, care, and trust. These values are not fixed duties that can be imitated, nor do they come out of thin air. They arise from struggles through which people become powerful together. As people force Empire out of their lives, there is more space for kindness and solidarity. As people reduce their dependence on Empire's stifling institutions, collective responsibility and autonomy can grow. As people come to trust their capacity to figure things out together rather than relying on the state and capitalism, they are less willing to submit to the fears and divisions that Empire fosters.

Similarly, we have come to think that while trust is fundamental in transformative struggle, it cannot be an obligation; trust is always a gift and a risk. Common notions are inherently experimental and collective. They subsist by hanging onto uncertainty, similar to the Zapatistas' notion preguntando caminamos: "asking, we walk." For the same reason, common notions are always in danger of being stifled by rigid radicalism, which tends towards mistrust and fixed ways of relating that destroy the capacity to be responsive and inventive. Joyful militancy, then, is a fierce commitment to emergent forms of life in the cracks of Empire, and the values, responsibilities, and questions that sustain them.

II

Beyond optimism and pessimism

While we want to insist that there are potentials bubbling up everywhere, it doesn't always feel that way. This is not an optimistic book. We are not interested in sacrificing the present for a revolution in the distance, nor are we confident that things will get better. They may get worse, for many of us, in many ways. However, we are equally wary of pessimism and cynicism. Among others, feminist essayist Rebecca Solnit has taught us to see optimism and pessimism as two sides of the same coin: both try to remove uncertainty from the world. Both foster certitude about how things will turn out, whether good or bad. Optimism and pessimism can provide a sense of comfort at the expense of openness and the capacity to hang onto complexity. They can drain away our capacity to care, to try, and to fight for things to be otherwise without knowing how it will turn out. A fundamental premise of this book is that no matter what, things can be otherwise-there is always wiggle room, Empire is already full of cracks, and the future is always uncertain. Uncertainty is where we need to begin, because experimentation and curiosity is part of what has been stolen from us. Empire works in part by making us feel impotent, corroding our abilities to shape worlds together.

In this book we hope to affirm a diverse array of struggles and alternatives in the making, including prison abolition and transformative justice, feminism and anti-violence, youth liberation, and Indigenous resurgence and land defense, among others. This kind of connection is less about adding up movements as if they could be unified, and more about illustrating the productiveness of their difference; like combining different tones and rhythms to see how they resonate.

To think and feel through this process, rather than creating new norms or positions, may be frustrating for some readers. It might sound a bit fluffy to insist that experimentation and struggle go hand in hand, or that celebration and love are linked to militant resistance. They aren't always connected. Yet creativity and experimentation are vital in the face of forces that not only crush disobedience but also steer desires. We want to affirm the ways that creative destruction and combative resistance can be linked to walking with questions, and all of this can make us more alive and capable together. Joyful militancy is a dangerous, transformative, and experimental process, generated collectively and held gently.

On anarchism

"Q: if an anarcho-syndicalist, an insurrectionary anarchist, and an anarcho-primitivist are sitting together in the back of a car, who's driving?

This book is also an intervention into anti-authoritarian movements, especially anarchism. Many threads of anarchism infuse our lives and the lives of those we care about, and we have been inspired and influenced by a range of different anti-authoritarian currents. At its most vibrant, anarchism is not an ideology, but a creative rejection of the ideologies of the state, capitalism, and the Left. Crucial to anarchism is the attempt to escape the certainties of Empire and the certainties that can arise in struggle. Anarchism can support a trust in people's capacities to figure out for themselves how to live and fight together, rather than constructing a model or blueprint for resistance. Whereas dominant currents of Marxism and liberalism assume the necessity of the state and activate desires for unity and sameness, anarchism often nurtures autonomy, decentralization, and difference.

The anarchism we are interested in does not tell us what we should do. For us this is crucial. Anarchism can help us inhabit spaces by trusting our own capacities, and relating in ways that are emergent and responsive to change. But as with any other tradition, anarchism can also crystallize into a fixed ideology. It can produce closed and stifling milieus. It can lead to duty-bound collectivism, or simplistic individualism. It can feel like a club whose boundaries are policed, or a badge to display one's radical cred. Anarchist spaces can feel cold, unwelcoming, and scary. Anyone familiar with anarchist milieus knows that there can be vicious sectarian conflicts, which often entrench rigid loyalties and positions.

We do not focus much on these debates here, nor do we situate ourselves as particular types of anarchists. This is partly because we have learned from many different currents, and it seems counterproductive to elevate one above the others. We also want to avoid some of the debates that, to us, have become sedimented and stale. At its best, we think anarchism nurtures trust in people's capacity to figure things out, while also supporting autonomy and leaving room for conflict. We are inspired by all the ways that anarchists are able to inhabit situations with strong values and fierce care, while also respecting and even welcoming difference.

We are particularly interested in currents of anarchism and anti-authoritarianism that have emphasized the importance of affinities over ideologies. Affinity is a helpful concept for us because it speaks to emergent relationships and forms of organizing that are decentralized and flexible, but not flimsy. Organizing by affinity basically means seeking out and nurturing relationships based in shared values, commitments, and passions, without trying to impose those on everyone else. Affinity is also important because many of the currents that inspire us either reject anarchism-along with all other "isms"-or just don't have much interest in it. Some of the people we interviewed are self-proclaimed anarchists who are known in anarchist milieus. Others have been deeply influenced by anarchism, and it inflects their projects and their lives, but they don't identify much with the political label. Others have traditions of autonomy and resistance that come from other sources, including Indigeneity and other non-Western traditions. For many, resistance to hierarchy, violence, and exploitation has been something intuitive, or a question of survival. They are forcing Empire out of their lives and linking up with others doing the same.

There is a conversation going on, within and beyond anarchism, about the potential of strong relationships that are rooted in trust, love, care, and the capacity to support and defend each other. The most exciting currents of anarchism, for us, are those that encourage and enable people to live differently here and now, and to break down divides between organizing and everyday life.

The beginning of a conversation

How can these processes of transformation be nurtured and defended, not just in their most dramatic and exceptional moments, but all the time? Are there common values or sensibilities that nurture transformative relationships, alive and responsive to changing situations, while warding off both Empire and rigid radicalism? What if joy (as the process of becoming more capable) was seen as fundamental to undoing Empire? What would it mean to be militant about joy? What is militancy when it is infused with creativity and love?

It was with these questions-much vaguer and more muddled at the time-that the two of us began having intentional conversations with several others. And who are we, the two of us? Both of us live in so-called British Columbia, Canada-Nick in Victoria and carla in Vancouver. We come from different generations, and we have pretty different life experiences across gender, class, ability, and education. carla has been involved in deschooling, youth liberation organizing, and other radical currents for a couple of decades now, and she became a mentor to Nick several years ago as Nick was realizing that he was a radical in his mid twenties without many mentors from older generations (a common phenomenon in anarchist and other radical worlds). What began as a relationship of mentorship and political collaboration evolved into a deep friendship. In terms of our organizing, we are both oriented towards prefigurative experiments: trying to contribute to projects and forms of life where we are able to live and relate differently with others, here and now, and supporting others doing the same. Both of us are white cis-gendered settlers, and for us this has meant trying to write in conversation with people with very different life experiences and insights, including Indigenous people, kids and youth, Black people and other folks of color, and genderqueer and trans folks, all of whom struggle against forms of violence and oppression that we can never know. We have also sought to talk to people from a wide variety of movements in many different places throughout Turtle Island (North America) and Latin America.

Over the course of a year and a half we spoke with friends, and friends of friends. This was a unique research process, in part, because we were inviting people into an ongoing conversation, asking them to reflect on and respond to our continually evolving ideas about joyful militancy and rigid radicalism. We formally interviewed fifteen people in all: Silvia Federici, adrienne maree brown, Marina Sitrin, Gustavo Esteva, Kelsey Cham C., Zainab Amadahy, Leanne Betasamosake Simpson, Melanie Matining, Tasnim Nathoo, Sebastian Touza, Walidah Imarisha, Mik Turje, Margaret Killjoy, Glen Coulthard, and Richard Day. We also had many more informal conversations with folks from a lot of different backgrounds, of all ages, who impacted our thinking immensely.

These people are not representatives of any particular group or movement. Nor are we holding them up as the ultimate embodiment of joy, militancy, or radicalism. They are people with whom we share values and who inspire and challenge us. All of them are committed, in various ways, to forcing Empire out of their lives and reviving and nurturing other worlds. They are involved in a diversity of movements, struggles, and forms of life: the uprisings in Oaxaca and Argentina; small-scale farming and urban food justice; Black liberation and prison abolition; Indigenous resurgence and land defense; transformative and healing justice movements; radical ecology and permaculture; scavenging and squatting; youth liberation and deschooling; feminist and anti-violence work; the creation of autonomous, queer, BIPOC[*] spaces; direct action and anticapitalist organizing, and much more, including the beautiful and fierce ways of being that are difficult to capture in words. Experiences among the people we interviewed ranged widely, from long-term commitments to places and communities to more itinerant and scattered spaces of belonging; from being steeped in radical theory to forms of knowledge arising through lived experience; from being well known in radical circles to being known primarily among friends, loved ones, and close collaborators.

Some we interviewed in person, some over conference calls, and others through written correspondence. We have tried to show this conversation-and to keep it going-by including extended excerpts from some of the interviews, putting them in dialogue with our own ideas and with each other. Some people we interviewed were unequivocally enthusiastic about this notion of joyful militancy, offering encouragement and affirmation. Others were more critical, alerting us to dangers, shortcomings, and confusions, and challenging some of our ideas. We have tried to show some of the ways our interlocutors challenged and disagreed with us-and diverged from each other-without pitting anyone against each other in a simplistic way.

We learned a lot from the apprehensiveness of some of the Indigenous people and people of color we interviewed, whose emotions are constantly policed and regulated, and whose struggles are constantly appropriated or erased. We heard from them that centering things like kindness, love, trust, and flourishing-especially when it comes from white people like us-can erase power relations. It can end up pathologizing so-called "negative" emotions like fear, mistrust, resentment, and anger. It can legitimize tone policing and a reactionary defense of comfort. It can fall into simplistic commandments to "be nice" or "get over" oppression and violence. Similarly, pointing to the importance of trust and openness can be dangerous and irresponsible in a world of so much betrayal and violence. These misgivings have taught us to be clear that trust and vulnerability are powerful and irreducibly risky; they require boundaries. They can never be obligations or duties.

We have also found that Spinoza's concept of sadness can be very misleading. In contrast to joy, it means the reduction of one's capacities to affect and be affected. Initially, we had been calling rigid radicalism "sad militancy," drawing on others in the Spinozan current.[7] But while the concept of sad militancy was immediately intuitive for some, for others it was frustrating because of its resonance with grief and sorrow, which are an irreducible part of life and struggle. Interpreted in this light, it could be seen as belittling grief and pain. For that reason, we have decentered the concept of sadness in this book, while trying to hang onto what Spinoza was getting at. In its place, we often use words like stagnation, rigidity, and depletion, connoting a loss of collective power and the way Empire and rigid radicalism keep us stuck there. With joyful militancy we are trying to get at a multiplicity of transformations and worlds in motion, but there is a danger of implying that we are all in the same situation, and erasing difference and antagonisms. BIPOC women, trans, queer, and Two-Spirit people, in particular, have worked hard to show the specificities of the oppression they face and the specificity of their resistance and the worlds they are making.

In the face of this, we have mostly questions and tentative ideas: can joyful militancy affirm and explore a multiplicity of struggles and forms of life without homogenizing them? By attuning us to open-endedness of situations, can joy help us undo some of the universalizing and colonizing tendencies of radical Western theory and practice? Can movements be explored in ways that enable mutual learning and transformation, rather than erasing difference?

Here, we want to return to the dynamic space beyond fixed norms on the one hand, and "anything goes" relativism on the other. Outside this false dichotomy is the domain of relationships that are alive, responsive, and make people capable of new things together, without imposing this on everyone else. It is in this space where values like openness, curiosity, trust, and responsibility can really flourish, not as fixed ways of being to be applied everywhere, but as ways of relating that can only be kept alive by cultivating careful, selective, and fierce boundaries. For joy to flourish, it needs sharp edges.

How do we know when to be open and vulnerable, and when to draw lines in the sand and fight? Who to trust, and how? When are relationships worth fighting for, and when do they need to be abandoned? These are not questions with pre-given answers; they can only be answered over and over again in a multiplicity of ways. A crucial outgrowth of joy and fidelity to it, we suggest, is that people will take different paths and have different priorities. Movements and forms of life will diverge and sometimes come into conflict. There is no trump card that can be used to dictate a path to others: not the state, not morality, and not strategic imperatives of unity or movement-building. Encountering difference might lead to new capacities, strong bonds, and new forms of struggle. Or it might be more ambivalent and difficult, mixing distance and closeness. Or it might mean being told to fuck off. For all these reasons, we try to share some of our own values, and some of the struggles and movements that deeply inspire us, without saying that they are right for everyone or that others should share our priorities.

Structure of the book

This book is laid out in five core chapters. Each chapter looks at Empire from a different perspective, showing how it is being undone at the edges and cracks. Chapter 1 suggests that, increasingly, Empire works through subjection and the accumulation of powerlessness. Backed by violence, its promises of happiness work like an anesthetic, closing subjects off from transformation. Joy is the growth of an embodied thinking and doing that undoes this stifling subjection.

In Chapter 2 we look at how Empire maintains its hold through morality and toxic relationships. As an alternative to the false choice between duty-bound moralism or isolated individualism, we recover a conception of relational ethics from the Spinozan current. In conversation with others, we use this relational ethics to think through the potentials and pitfalls of alliances across the settler colonial divide and other forms of oppression, suggesting that Empire's hold is undone by selective openness, fierce boundaries, and new and old forms of kinship and friendship.

We deepen this relational ethics in Chapter 3, arguing that joyful militancy is sustained by emergent values-common notions-of trust and responsibility. We suggest that these capacities have been stolen from us by forced dependence on Empire's infrastructures and institutions, which monopolize the ways we live and die together. Drawing on stories from transformative justice, youth liberation, and Indigenous resurgence, we look at some of the ways people are able to undo this dependence and figure things out together.

Chapters 4 and 5 track the ways that Empire has seeped into radical movements and spaces. Attempts to root out Empire have paradoxically fueled some of its most debilitating tendencies, including suspicion, moralism, rigidity, and shame, turning radical politics into a competitive performance rather than a shared and enabling process. In Chapter 5 we tell three tangled stories about the historical emergence of rigid radicalism, looking at the way ideology has permeated Marxism, anarchism, and other movements; how schooling has promoted a paranoid search for flaws and limitations; and how moralism crops up in radical spaces, leading to guilt, shame, and puritanism. In each of these stories, we try to show how rigid radicalism is constantly being undone and warded off by other ways of being, ethical responsiveness, strong relationships, and common notions.

Ultimately, we want joyful militancy to be about questions and curiosity, not fixed answers or instructions. In this spirit we hope that this book contributes to ongoing conversations, and that it supports people in figuring out for themselves what thriving resistance looks like, and how rigidity and stagnation can be warded off.

Chapter 1: Empire, Militancy, and Joy

A concept is a brick. It can be used to build a courthouse of reason. Or it can be thrown through the window.

-Brian Massumi[8]

Personally, I want to be nurturing life when I go down in struggle. I want nurturing life to BE my struggle.

-Zainab Amadahy[9]

Resistance and joy are everywhere

Anyone who has been transformed through a struggle can attest to its power to open up more capacities for resistance, creativity, action, and vision. This sense of collective power-the sense that things are different, that we are different, that a more capable "we" is forming that didn't exist before-is what we mean by joyful transformation. Joyful transformation entails a new conception of militancy, which is already emerging in many movements today. To be militant about joy means being attuned to situations or relationships, and learning how to participate in and support the transformation, rather than directing or controlling it.

Everywhere, people are recovering, sustaining, and reinventing worlds that are more intense and alive than the form of life offered up by Empire. The web of control that exploits and administers life-ranging from the most brutal forms of domination to the subtlest inculcation of anxiety and isolation-is what we call Empire. It includes the interlocking systems of settler colonialism, white supremacy, the state, capitalism, ableism, ageism, and heteropatriarchy. Using one word to encapsulate all of this is risky because it can end up turning Empire into a static thing, when in fact it is a complex set of processes. These processes separate people from their power, their creativity, and their ability to connect with each other and their worlds.

We say worlds, in the plural, because part of Empire's power is to bring us all into the same world, with one morality, one history, and one direction, and to convert differences into hierarchical, violent divisions. As other worlds emerge through resistance and transformation, they reveal more of the violence of Empire. Insurrections and revolts on the street reveal that the police are an armed gang and that "keeping the peace" is war by other means. Pushing back against sexualized violence reveals the ways that rape culture continues to structure daily life. Indigenous resurgence reveals the persistent concreteness of settler colonial occupation and the charade of apologizing for genocide and dispossession as if they were only part of the past. Holding assemblies where people can formulate problems together, make decisions collectively, and care for one another reveals the profound alienation and individualism of life under Empire. Trying to raise kids (or even share space with them) without controlling them reveals the ways that ageism and schooling stifle young people and segregate generations. Struggles against anti-Black racism and white supremacy reveal the continuities between slavery, apartheid, and mass incarceration, in which slave catchers have evolved into police and plantations have shaped prisons. The movements of migrants reveal the interconnected violence of borders, imperialism, and citizenship. And the constant resistance to capitalism, even when fleeting, reveals the subordination, humiliation, and exploitation required by capital. As these struggles connect and resonate, Empire's precarity is being revealed everywhere, even if it continues to be pervasive and devastating.

There is no doubt that we live in a world of intertwined horrors. Borders tighten around bodies as capital flows ever more freely; corporations suck lakes dry to sell bottled water; debt proliferates as a tool of control and dispossession; governments and corporations attack Indigenous lands and bodies while announcing state-controlled recognition and reconciliation initiatives; surveillance is increasingly ubiquitous; addiction, depression and anxiety proliferate along with new drugs to keep bodies working; gentrification tears apart neighborhoods to make way for glassy condos; people remain tethered to jobs they hate; the whole world is becoming toxic; bombs are dropped by drones controlled by soldiers at a distant computer console; a coded discourse of criminality constructs Black bodies as threats, targeting them with murder and imprisonment; climatic and ecological catastrophes intensify as world leaders debate emissions targets; more of us depend on food and gadgets made half a world away under brutal conditions; we are encouraged to spend more time touching our screens than the people we love; it is easier for many of us to envision the end of the world than the end of capitalism.[10]

We suspect that anyone reading this already knows and feels this horror in one way or another. When we say that struggles reveal the violence of Empire, it's not that everyone was unaware of it before. However, upwellings of resistance and insurrection make this knowing palpable in ways that compel responses. In this sense, it is not that people first figure out how oppression works, then are able to organize or resist. Rather it is resistance, struggle, and lived transformation that make it possible to feel collective power and carve out new paths.

Sadness and subjection

No, the masses were not innocent dupes; at a certain point, under a certain set of conditions, they wanted fascism, and it is this perversion of the desire of the masses that needs to be accounted for.

-Deleuze and Guattari[11]

In order to rule, those in positions of power need to constantly crush and subdue the forces of transformation. They do not merely need obedience; they need their subjects to be separated from their own capacities. As Audre Lorde writes, "Every oppression must corrupt or distort those various sources of power within the culture of the oppressed that can provide energy for change."[12] Empire's hold is increasingly affective: it suffuses our emotions, relationships, and desires, propagating feelings of shame, impotence, fear, and dependence. It makes capitalist relations feel inevitable and (to some) even desirable.

An important insight shared by many radical currents is that these forms of violence and control are ultimately toxic for everyone. For men to "enjoy" the benefits of patriarchal masculinity, their capacities for vulnerability and care must be eviscerated, replaced by a violent and disconnected way of being built upon shame and woundedness. For white people to become white, they have to internalize entitlement and a hostility to difference, hiding from the ways their lives depend on institutionalized violence and exploitation. Settlers must build their lives on a living legacy of genocide, indebted to ongoing extraction and dispossession. Being privileged by Empire means being sheltered from its most extreme forms of violence and degradation, and to be enrolled in a stultifying form of life that recreates this violence. Most of what is called privilege has nothing to do with thriving or joy; this is why privileged white men are some of the most emotionally stunted, closed-off people alive today. None of this is to deny that there are pleasures, wealth, and safety associated with whiteness, heteropatriarchal masculinity, and other forms of privilege. Instead, it is to insist that everyone, potentially, has a stake in undoing privileges-and the ongoing violence required to secure them-as a part of transformative struggle. As Jack Halberstam writes in his introduction to Fred Moten's The Undercommons,

The mission then for the denizens of the undercommons is to recognize that when you seek to make things better, you are not just doing it for the Other, you must also be doing it for yourself. While men may think they are being "sensitive" by turning to feminism, while white people may think they are being right on by opposing racism, no one will really be able to embrace the mission of tearing "this shit down" until they realize that the structures they oppose are not only bad for some of us, they are bad for all of us. Gender hierarchies are bad for men as well as women and they are really bad for the rest of us. Racial hierarchies are not rational and ordered, they are chaotic and nonsensical and must be opposed by precisely all those who benefit in any way from them. Or, as Moten puts it: "The coalition emerges out of your recognition that it's fucked up for you, in the same way that we've already recognized that it's fucked up for us. I don't need your help. I just need you to recognize that this shit is killing you, too, however much more softly, you stupid motherfucker, you know?"[13]

Empire is killing all of us, in different ways, and all of us, in different ways, are marked by incredible legacies of movement and revolt. Its forms of control are never total, never guaranteed. The word "sabotage" comes from those who destroyed factory machinery by throwing their wooden shoes ( sabots) in the gears of the early European factories. Slaves broke their tools in the field, poisoned their masters, learned to read in secret, and invented subversive forms of song and dance.

Empire reacts to resistance by entrenching and accumulating what Spinoza called sadness: the reduction of our capacity to affect and be affected. We've chosen not to use this word very much in this book because we've found it can be misleading in many ways, but the concept of sadness is important for Spinoza. In the same way that joy gets conflated with happiness, it's easy to hear "sad" in terms of its familiar meaning as an emotion, rather than the way Spinoza intended it: as a reduction of capacities. For Spinoza, sadness cannot be avoided or eliminated completely; it is part of life. All things wax, wane, and die eventually, and the process can provoke thought, resistance, and action. Sadness and joy can be intertwined in complex ways. But Empire accumulates and spreads sadness. Drawing on Spinoza, here is how Deleuze put it:

We live in a world which is generally disagreeable, where not only people but the established powers have a stake in transmitting sad affects to us. Sadness, sad affects, are all those which reduce our power to act. The established powers need our sadness to make us slaves. The tyrant, the priest, the captors of souls need to persuade us that life is hard and a burden. The powers that be need to repress us no less than to make us anxious ... to administer and organize our intimate little fears.[14]

Empire propagates and transmits sad affects. Sadness sticks to us; we are made to desire its rhythms. Terrible situations are made to feel inevitable. For this reason, we speak of the entrenchment of Spinozan sadness as that which is stultifying, depleting, disempowering, individualizing and isolating. But this entrenchment might not feel agonizing or even unpleasant: it might feel like comfort, boredom, or safety. We have found the notion of "subjection" helpful here, because it goes beyond a top-down notion of power. In an interview, the critical trans scholar and organizer Dean Spade explains why he uses this term instead of the more common activist term "oppression":

"Subjection" suggests a more complex set of relationships, where we are constituted as subjects by these systems, engage in resistance within these systems, manage and are managed within these systems, and can have moments of seeing and exploiting the cracks and edges of these systems. I chose to introduce this term, despite its unfamiliarity in most activist realms I am part of, because I felt its intervention was a necessary part of my argument about how power works.[15]

Today, especially in the metropolitan centers of so-called "developed" countries, subjects are enmeshed in a dense fabric of control. Some of us are steered into forms of life that are compatible and complicit with ongoing exploitation and violence, while other populations are selected for slow death. New forms of subjection are invented to contain each new rebellion, enrolling subjects to participate in the containment. Prisons and policing come to be felt (especially by white people) as a form of safety and security. Misogyny is eroticized and objectification reaches new heights, taking new forms. Desires for affluence and luxury are entrenched amidst growing inequality. Through cellphones and social media, surveillance and control are increasingly participatory. When they are working, these forms of subjection are felt not as impositions but as desires, like a warm embrace or an insistent tug.

Joy is not happiness

With all this in mind, we want to pull happiness and joy apart, in hopes of further clarifying what we mean by joyful militancy. The happiness offered to us by Empire is not the same as joy, even though they are conventionally understood as synonyms. For instance, the Oxford English Dictionary defines joy simply as "a feeling of great pleasure or happiness."[16] But whereas joyful transformation undoes the stultifying effects of Empire, happiness has become a tool of subjection.

Under Empire, happiness is seen as a duty and unhappiness as a disorder. Marketing firms increasingly sell happy experiences instead of products: happiness is a relaxing vacation on the beach, an intense night at the bar, a satisfying drink on a hot day, or the contentment and security of retirement. As consumers, we are encouraged to become connoisseurs and customizers, with an ever more refined sense of the kinds of consumption that make us happy. As workers, we are expected to find happiness in our job. Neoliberal capitalism encourages its subjects to base their lives on this search for happiness, promising pleasure, bliss, fulfillment, arousal, exhilaration, or contentment, depending on your tastes and proclivities (and your budget).

The search for happiness doesn't just come through consumption. Empire also sells the rejection of upward mobility and consumerism as another form of placid containment: the individual realizes that what really makes him happy is a life in a small town where everyone knows your name, or a humble nuclear family, or kinky polyamory, or travel, or witty banter, or cooking fancy food, or awesome dance parties. The point is not that these activities are wrong or bad. Many people use food, dance, sex, intimacy, and travel in ways intertwined with transformative struggles and bonds. But Empire empties these and other activities of their transformative potential, inviting us to shape our lives in pursuit of happiness as the ultimate goal of life. Rebecca Solnit explains this powerfully:

Happiness is a sort of ridiculous thing we're all supposed to chase like dogs chasing cars that suggests there's some sort of steady wellbeing ... you can feel confident, you can feel loved, but I think joy flashes up at moments and then you have other important things to attend to. Happiness-the wall-to-wall carpeting of the psyche-is somewhat overrated."[17]

Similarly, feminist theorist Sara Ahmed writes that "to be conditioned by happiness is to like your condition ... consensus is produced through sharing happy objects, creating a blanket whose warmth covers over the potential of the body to be affected otherwise."[18] As wall-to-wall carpeting or a warm blanket, the search for happiness closes off other possibilities, other textures, other affections. Ahmed shows how the promise of happiness can be treacherous, encouraging us to ignore or turn away from suffering-our own or others'-if it threatens happiness. This promise has a gendered and racialized logic: Empire is designed to secure white male happiness in particular, while the feelings of women, genderqueer and trans folks, and people of color are intensely policed. As Nishnaabe scholar and artist Leanne Betasamosake Simpson writes,

I am repeatedly told that I cannot be angry if I want transformative change-that the expression of anger and rage as emotions are wrong, misguided, and counter-productive to the movement. The underlying message in such statements is that we, as Indigenous and Black peoples, are not allowed to express a full range of human emotions. We are encouraged to suppress responses that are not deemed palatable or respectable to settler society. But the correct emotional response to violence targeting our families is rage.[19]

Simpson shows how the restriction of negative emotions can take place in movements themselves: imperatives to be happy, nice, or kind can sustain violence, forcing out anger and antagonism. Unhappiness is pathologized along with so-called "negative" emotions like rage, despair, resentment, and fear when they get in the way of promised forms of happiness.

For those who refuse these imperatives, control and coercion lurk behind happy promises. Being perceived as a threat to the happiness of others-especially white men-can be lethal. These tangled webs of subjection are portrayed as individual failings or pathologies. Unhappiness, outrage, and grief are then perceived as individual disorders, to be dealt with through pharmaceuticals, self-help, therapy, and other atomizing responses.

The point is not that happiness is always bad, or that being happy means being complicit with Empire. Happiness can also be subversive and dangerous, as part of a process through which one becomes more alive and capable. But when happiness becomes something to be gripped or chased after as the meaning of life, it tends to lose its transformative potential. And if we are not happy-if we are depressed, anxious, addicted, or "crazy"-we are tasked with fixing ourselves, or at least with managing our symptoms. The wall-to-wall carpeting of happiness is an anaesthetic under Empire.

The challenge is not to reject happiness in favor of duty or self-sacrifice, but to initiate processes of thinking, feeling, and acting that undo subjection, starting from everyday life. Because Empire has shaped our very aspirations, moods, and identities, this always entails grappling with parts of ourselves. This is one of the fundamental questions that runs through the Spinozan current: How are people made to desire their own stifling forms of subjection? How do we come to desire the violent, depleting forms of life offered up by Empire? How do transformative movements get drawn back into the rhythms of capitalism and the state? And most importantly, how can we bring about something different?

Because Empire has a hold on our desires and the rhythms of our lives, undoing it cannot be about discovering a truth or revealing it to others as if we have all been duped. The kind of transformation we are interested in is not about converting people, or finally being able to see clearly.

The power of joy

To emphasize joy, in contrast to happiness, is to move away from conditioned habits, reactions, and emotions. Bubbling up in the cracks of Empire, joy remakes people through combat with forces of subjection. Joy is a desubjectifying process, an unfixing, an intensification of life itself.[20] It is a process of coming alive and coming apart. Whereas happiness is used as a numbing anesthetic that induces dependence, joy is the growth of people's capacity to do and feel new things, in ways that can break this dependence. It is aesthetic, in its older meaning, before thinking and feeling were separate: the increase in our capacity to perceive with our senses. As Mexican activist and writer Gustavo Esteva explained in his interview with us,

We use the word aesthetic to allude to the ideal of beauty. The etymological meaning, almost lost, associates the word with the intensity of sensual experience; it means perceptive, sharp in the senses. That meaning is retained in words like anaesthesia. Comparing a funeral in a modern, middle-class family and in a village in Mexico or India, we can see then the contrast in how one expresses or not their feelings and how joy and sadness can be combined with great intensity.[21]

Esteva suggested to us that sentipensar still carries this meaning in Spanish: the conviction that you cannot think without feeling, or feel without thinking. As the feminist scholar Silvia Federici explained when we interviewed her, joy is a palpable sense of collective power:

I like the distinction between happiness and joy. I like joy, like you, because I think joy is an active passion. It's not a stagnant state of being. It's not satisfaction with things as they are. It's part of feeling power's capacities growing in you and growing in the people around you. It's a feeling, a passion, that comes from a process of transformation. And it's a process of growth. So this doesn't necessarily mean that you have to be satisfied with your situation. It means that again, using Spinoza, that you understand the situation, and you're active in a way that you feel that you are comprehending and moving along in accordance to what is required in that moment. So you feel that you have the power to change and you feel yourself changing with what you're doing, together with other people. It's not a form of acquiescence to what exists.[22]

This feeling of the power to change one's life and circumstances is at the core of collective resistance, insurrections, and the construction of alternatives to life under Empire. Joy is the sentipensar, the thinking-feeling that arises from becoming capable of more, and often this entails feeling many emotions at once. It is resonant with what the Black poet and intellectual Audre Lorde calls the erotic:

For once we begin to feel deeply all the aspects of our lives, we begin to demand from ourselves and from our life-pursuits that they feel in accordance with that joy which we know ourselves to be capable of. Our erotic knowledge empowers us, becomes a lens through which we scrutinize all aspects of our existence, forcing us to evaluate those aspects honestly in terms of their relative meaning within our lives. And this is a grave responsibility, projected from within each of us, not to settle for the convenient, the shoddy, the conventionally expected, nor the merely safe.[23]

Lorde makes it clear that this capacity for feeling is not about fleeting pleasure or contentment: following its line requires responsibility and pulls one away from comfort and safety. It undoes stuckness. It makes stultifying comforts intolerable. In our interview with writer and activist adrienne maree brown, she emphasized that joy is the capacity to be more fully present with ourselves and the world:

I feel very fortunate that my mother read The Prophet by Khalil Gibran to me many times. There is this whole thing on how your sorrow carves out the space for your joy, and vice versa. That has helped me a lot. In recent years I have been on a path to learn somatics, how to be in my wholeness, with my trauma, with my triggers, with my brilliance. It's all about being present, being awake inside your real life in real time.[24]

In this sense, joy does not come about by avoiding pain, but by struggling amidst and through it. To make space for collective feelings of rage, grief, or loneliness can be deeply transformative. Empire, in contrast, works to keep its subjects stuck in individualizing sadness: held in habits and relationships that are depleting, toxic, and privatized. This stagnation might be held in place by the pursuit of happiness, and the attempt to numb or avoid pain. To be more fully present, in contrast, means tuning in to that which affects us, and participating actively in the forces that shape us.

Similarly, in a nihilistic vein, the anonymous authors of the queer journal Bædan unpack jouissance as something that exceeds simple enjoyment or pleasure, conceiving it as an ecstatic rupture in the social order imposed by Empire:

We should analyze this distinction between pleasure and pain as being an inscription of the social order into our bodies. And in the same way, it is the mundane and miniscule pleasures produced through contemporary power arrangements which keep us dependent on those arrangements for our well-being. Jouissance, in abolishing both sides of this distinction, severs us from pain as a self-preservation instinct and from pleasure as the society's alluring bribe. It is the process that momentarily sets us free from our fear of death (literal or figurative) which is such a powerful inhibitor.

We can locate this jouissance in the historic moments of queer riot: Compton's cafeteria, Dewey's, the White Night, Stonewall, and countless other moments where queer bodies participated in rupture-throwing bricks, setting fires, smashing windows, rejoicing in the streets. But more to the point, jouissance is located in precisely the aspects of these moments (and of others unknown to us) which elude historians, the ones which cannot be captured in a textbook or situated neatly within narratives of progress for queer people, or of rational political struggle for a better future.[26]

Another part of why joyful transformation is difficult to talk about is because of the inheritance of a dualistic, patriarchal worldview in which "real" change is supposed to be measurable and observable, and "intelligence" is the capacity for a detached engineering of outcomes. Even the capacity to live otherwise and reject parts of Empire is often presented in patriarchal ways: the subject of revolution is the heroic, strong-willed individual who has the capacity to see past illusions and free himself from mistakes and errors of the past. As feminist, queer, anti-racist, and Indigenous writers have pointed out, this is a vision that falls back on the detached, masculine individual as the basic unit of life and freedom.

Rather than trying to rationally direct the course of events, an affective politics is about learning to participate more actively in the forces that compose the world and oneself. This is what Spinoza meant by intelligence. Supporting joy cannot be achieved through a detached rationality, but only through attunement to relationships, feelings, and forces-a practical wisdom that supports flourishing and experimentation.[27] This is how organizer and militant researcher Marina Sitrin put it when we spoke with her:

I am so excited for this project. It all resonates deeply with things I have been thinking, witnessing, fearing, and dreaming. The role of joy, in particular in the way you describe it, is often absent-though not entirely-from our conversations and constructions in the northern part of the Americas and Europe. It is both a fairly large and abstract concept, and at the same time a very simple, direct, and emotive one. How do we feel when we participate in a movement or group? What are our relationships to others in the group? Does it feel open? Caring? Social? Is there trust? Why do we come back to assemblies and actions? Are people open to one another?[28]

These questions are not just about whether people feel good. They are about how spaces and struggles affect us, and about the potential of becoming more alive, open, trusting and creative. Practices that seem to resemble each other might be vastly different, in terms of what they enable affectively (or don't). Depending on the context, the relationships, and the way things unfold, a tactic like a strike or a street demo might be based on a dismal conformity to habit or duty, or it might be a profound experience that connects people in new ways and opens possibilities for creativity and movement. It might also be a messy mix of stale routines, reactive containment, and transformative potential.

As we explore in the next chapter, transformative power might look like a dramatic break from the relationships and life paths that have been offered by Empire, but it might also involve more subtle work of learning to love places, families, friends, and parts of ourselves in new ways. It entails deepening some bonds while severing others, and enabling selective openness through firm boundaries. What could it mean to be militant or fiercely committed to all this? Is it possible to be militant about creativity and care? Can militancy be something that is responsive and relationship-based? Can people be militant about joy?

Militant about joy

We want to connect joy to militancy for a number of reasons. We are interested in how the capacity for refusal and the willingness to fight can be enabling, relational, and can open up potentials for collective struggle and movement, in ways that are not necessarily associated with control, duty, or vanguardism. We want an expansive conception of militancy that affirms the potential of transformation at the expense of comfort, safety, or predictability. A common definition of militancy is to be "vigorously active, combative and aggressive, especially in support of a cause."[29] We are interested in the ways that putting joy into contact with militancy helps link fierce struggle with intense affect: rebellions and movements are not only about determined resistance, but about opening up collective capacities. With joyful militancy we want to get at what it means to enliven struggle and care, combativeness and tenderness, hand in hand.

However, the historical associations and current renderings of militancy are complex. Historically, militancy is often associated with Marxist-Leninist and Maoist vanguardism, and the ways these ideologies have informed revolutionary class struggle and national liberation struggles. These ideals of militancy have been challenged, especially by Black, Indigenous, and postcolonial feminists, who have pointed out the pitfalls of rigid ideology, patriarchal leadership, and the neglect of care and love. The traditional figure of the militant-zealous, rigid, and ruthless-has also been challenged by situationism, anarchism, feminism, queer politics, and other currents that have connected direct action and struggle to the liberation of desire, foregrounding the importance of creativity and experimentation. From this perspective, the militant is the one who is always trying to control things, to take charge, to educate, to radicalize, and so on. This kind of militant tends to be two steps behind transformations as they manifest themselves, always finding them lacking the correct analysis or strategy, always imposing a framework or program.

The contemporary discourse of counterterrorism associates figures of militancy with ISIL,[†] the Taliban, and other groups named as enemies of the United States and its allies. In this way, the specter of the "militant extremist" helps justify further militarization, surveillance, imperialism and Islamophobia. The suspected presence of one militant is enough to turn a whole area into a strike zone in which all military-aged men are conceived as enemy combatants, and everyone else as collateral damage. Within this discourse, the militant is increasingly the ultimate Other, to be targeted for death or indefinite detention. In all of these representations-from the Maoist rebel to the terrorist extremist-the figure of the militant tends to be associated with intense discipline, duty, and armed struggle, and these ways of being are often posed in opposition to being supple, responsive, or sensitive. It's clear that militancy means willingness to fight, but in its dominant representations, it is cold and calculating.

At the same time, there are other currents of militancy that make space for transformation and joy. When we interviewed her, queer Filipino organizer Melanie Matining spoke about its potential to break down stereotypes:

The word "militancy" for me is a really, really hard one. It was used a lot in Filipino organizing. I would always connect it to the military industrial complex, and I didn't want to replicate that. And then as I started peeling back the actual things we need to do... As an Asian woman, to be militant-that's really fucking rad. It breaks down sterotypes of submissiveness. The concept of militancy is a new thing for me, and to embrace it I'm unpacking notions of who I'm supposed to be.[30]

Artist and writer Jackie Wang argues that militancy is not only tactically necessary, but transformative for those who embody it. In the context of anti-Blackness in the United States, Wang shows how the category of "crime" has been constructed around Blackness and how mass incarceration has led to a politics of safety and respectability that relies on claims of innocence, contrasted implicitly with (Black) guilt and criminality. Rejecting the politics of innocence means challenging the innocent/criminal dichotomy and the institutionalized violence that subtends it. This form of militancy, Wang argues, is "not about assuming a certain theoretical posture or adopting a certain perspective-it is a lived position."[31] Drawing on Frantz Fanon, Wang writes that militancy has the capacity "to transform people and 'fundamentally alter' their being by emboldening them, removing their passivity and cleansing them of the 'core of despair' crystallized in their bodies."[32] Living militancy, from this perspective, is inherently connected to a process of transformation that undoes the knot of subjection around innocence, challenges the carceral logics of anti-Blackness, and opens up new terrains of struggle.

When we asked Indigenous political theorist Glen Coulthard about his conception of militancy in the context of Indigenous resurgence, he called it an "emergent radicalism" that destabilizes relations of domination.[33] Coulthard's work focuses on Indigenous resurgence and resistance to settler colonialism. He reveals the ways that Empire represents Indigenous peoples' oppression as a constellation of personal failings and "issues" to be addressed through colonial recognition and reconciliation. He also focuses on Indigenous refusal and resistance, the revaluation of Indigenous traditions, and a rise in Indigenous militancy and direct action. Militancy, in the context of Indigenous resurgence, is about the capacity to break down colonial structures of control, including the state's monopoly on the legitimate use of force; it is a break with the colonial state's attempt to subjugate Indigenous people and ensure continued exploitation of Indigenous lands. This emergent militancy isn't based on a single program or ideology, but comes out of relationships, as Coulthard says:

It's emergent in the sense that it's bottom-up. But it also emerges from something, and that's those relationships to land, place, community. So that is the emergent part. Emergent doesn't mean entirely new, because those relationships to place are not new. They've always been there, and are always re-emerging. It comes in cycles. The always-there emergent militancy is acted on through management strategies, recognition and accommodation, whatever. That has its effects: it dampens the crisis, it overcomes contradictions temporarily. And then the militancy will emerge again. And we've seen this four or five times in the last half-century, these series of containment/management strategies.

...What's always prior is agency of Indigenous peoples, and capital and the state are constantly on the defensive, reacting. As opposed to thinking that we're always reacting to colonialism, when we privilege it. It's this resurgent Indigenous subjectivity that the state is constantly trying to quell or subdue. And it's successful, but never totally successful. And it boils over, comes to the surface, and some new technology is deployed in order to manage it, and reconciliation is the latest tool that is doing that work. But it's always because of our persistent presence: we've never gone away and we've been articulating alternatives in words and deeds.[34]

This conception of militancy as emergent is important because it doesn't come out of thin air, or from an enlightened vanguard of militarized men who suppose that they can see things more clearly than common people. It comes out of the ongoing refusal of Indigenous peoples to give up their ways of life. As Kiera Ladner and Leanne Betasamosake Simpson write in their introduction to This is an Honour Song,

The summer of 1990 brought some strong medicine to Turtle Island. For many Canadians, "Oka" was the first time they encountered Indigenous anger, resistance and standoff, and the resistance was quickly dubbed both the "Oka Crisis" and the "Oka Crises" by the mainstream media. But to the Kanien'kehaka (Mohawk) people of Kanehsata:ke, who were living up their responsibilities to take care of their lands, this was neither a "crisis" at Oka, nor was it about the non-Native town of "Oka." This was about 400 years of colonial injustice. Similarly, for the Kanien'kaehaka from Kahnawa:ke and Akwesasne who created "crises" by putting up their own barricades on the Mercier Bridge or by mobilizing and/or mobilizing support (resources) at Kanehsata:ke, this really had nothing to do with Oka, a bridge or a golf course. This was about 400 years of resistance. Like every Indigenous nation occupied by Canada, the Haudenesaunee have been confronting state/settler societies and their governments since those societies began threatening the sovereignty, self-determination, and jurisdiction of the Haudenesaunee. It was not a beginning. Nor was this the end. This was a culmination of many, many years of Onhkwehonwe resistance resulting in a decision to put up barricades in defense of, and to bring attention to, Haudenesaunee land ethics, treaty responsibilities, and governance.[35]

Indigenous resurgence and events like Oka are not joyful in the sense of being happy, but in the sense that they are deeply transformative and able to catalyze solidarity across Turtle Island. But unlike Marxist conceptions of militancy in which the vanguard is supposed to usher in a global revolution, it is clear that Indigenous struggles do not implicate everyone in the same way. As it breaks down colonial structures of control and dispossession, Indigenous resurgence implicates us, as settlers, in complicated ways: it unsettles us and our relationship to land and place, and throws into question received ideas about who we are, our responsibilities and complicities, what it means to live here, and our received ideas about what "here" is. It compels us to learn, together, how to support Indigenous resurgence and resist settler colonial violence.

Joyful militancy has also emerged in spaces where people generate the capacity to move with despair and hopelessness, to politicize it. In her study of the queer movement ACT UP, queer theorist and activist Deborah Gould shows how their militant tactics not only won institutional victories that prolonged and saved lives; they were also a process of world-making:

From its start and throughout its life, ACT UP was a place to fight the AIDS crisis, and it was always more than that as well. It was a place to elaborate critiques of the status quo, to imagine alternative worlds, to express anger, to defy authority, to form sexual and other intimacies, to practice non-hierarchical governance and self-determination, to argue with one another, to refashion identities, to experience new feelings, to be changed.[36]

The militancy of ACT UP was not only about a willingness to be confrontational and defy conventions of straight society and mainstream gay and lesbian politics; the movement also created erotically-charged queer atmospheres and sustained networks of care and support for members who got sick. Catalyzed by grief and rage, it blew open political horizons and changed what was possible for people to think, do, and feel together.

When we asked the Argentina-based intellectual Sebastián Touza about militancy, he discussed the danger of defining it once and for all:

I don't know if militancy can be defined "as such." Probably it is not a good idea to define it that way because that would entail a general point of view, an interchangeable and abstract concept, valid for all situations. But, on the other hand, I would say that a militant is somebody who struggles for justice in the situation ... Thus we have to pay attention to the situation, to the encounters that take place in it, to how meaning is elaborated there, to the subjectivities that arise as a result of those encounters.[37]

This "situated" militancy does not start from a prefabricated notion of justice. It is an attempt to intervene effectively in the here and now, based on a capacity to be attuned to relationships. An example of this could be Touza's discussion of the struggle of the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo, a feminist organization that formed in resistance to military repression in Argentina in the 1970s:

Mothers grew up not from strategic plans but from below: from the pain of mothers seeking to recover their children who had been kidnapped, tortured, and "disappeared" by the state. Because they have not separated affects from political activity, Mothers never consider each other means toward ends. Nobody has to be subordinated to strengthen the organization. Rather, they regard each other as ends in themselves. What bonds them together is not an idea but the affect, love and friendship that arises from supporting each other, sharing intimate emotions, moments of joy and sorrow. They organize themselves through consensus, understood not as a system of decision-making or conflict resolution, but as a direct engagement with the lives of one another. As in a now long established feminist tradition, for them the personal is political. Mothers guide themselves by an ethics of intimate conviction whose exercise cannot be detached from everyday life. They have a profound distrust of ideologies and party lines and are proud of their autonomy from the state, political parties, unions and NGOs. Their autonomy does not consist in fighting against a dominant ideology, which might summon the need for the specialized knowledge of a vanguard party, but rather ... in the affirmation of liberating aspects of popular culture that already exist among them.[38]

The Mothers are a powerful example of how militancy often springs from everyday life and the bonds of kinship, rather than abstract ideological or moral commitments. These struggles eventually waned or were absorbed by Empire, at least partially. The Argentinean government eventually began using the discourse of human rights and began to offer money and services as an attempt to relegitimize the state and regain control, causing deep divisions between the Mothers and other movements in Argentina.[39] The Canadian government used treaty negotiations, reconciliation discourses, and other formal processes in an attempt to quell Indigenous resurgence and militancy. As Coulthard explains above, new forms of militancy tend to provoke new strategies of containment and absorption by the state, leading to the invention of new forms of struggle. None of these movements stayed frozen in one form: in various ways they transformed, dissolved, shifted, or were institutionalized. But the fact that Empire always invents new forms of containment is not evidence that movements have "failed" or that they were misguided. Joyful transformation sometimes ebbs and flows, becomes captured or crushed, grows subtler or percolates into everyday life, but always re-emerges and renews itself.

Militancy is not a fixed ideal to approximate. We cannot be "like" a militant because militancy-in the way we conceptualize it here-is a practice that is based in the specificity of situations. We cannot become these examples, nor should we look to them as ideals. Rather than boiling joyful militancy down to a fixed way of being or a set of characteristics, we see it arising in and through the relationships that people have with each other. This means it will always look different, based on the emergent connections, relationships, and convictions that animate it.

In relation to this, we believe it is important to hesitate, lest our understanding of militancy become another form of rigid radicalism. Not everyone we spoke with has been enthusiastic about this word. For instance, in our interview with them, writer and artist Margaret Killjoy was ambivalent, emphasizing its connection to armed struggle:

I guess I see it as being someone who is "actively" involved in trying to promote radical social change, and in a non-reformist way. It's dangerous as terminology ... I don't use it much myself ... because of course the first implication it seems to have is that of armed struggle, which is far from a universally applicable strategy or tactic.[40]

We hope that joyful militancy allows for questions and uncertainties that are too often smothered by conventional conceptions of militancy. We also recognize that many will still prefer different language. We are not suggesting that all joyful struggles share an ideology, a program, or a set of tactics. What the above examples have in common is that they express a form of militancy that is attuned to their local situations and arises from people's needs, desires, and relationships. What we are calling joyful militancy is not a shared content, though we do think there are some shared values and sensibilities. Rather it is an attunement and activation of collective power that looks different everywhere, because everywhere is different.

Besides these highly visible examples, joyful militancy also lives in art and poetry that opens people's capacities for thinking and feeling in new ways. It is expressed in quiet forms of subversion and sabotage, as well as all the forms of care, connection, and support that defy the isolation and violence of Empire. It is not a question of being a certain way, but a question of open-ended becoming, starting from wherever people find themselves.

Starting from where people find themselves

Joy arises not from the pursuit of a distant goal, but through struggle in one's own situation. It often erupts through the capacity to say no, to refuse, or to attack the debilitating form of life offered up by Empire. It might come through a riot or a barricade. Or it might come about by refusing Empire's offers of insipid happiness, or through the capacity to be present with grief. Ultimately it is up to people to figure this out for themselves by composing gestures, histories, relationships, feelings, textures, world events, neighborhoods, ancestors, languages, tools, and bodies in a way that enables something new, deepening a crack in Empire. This is at odds with the stiff, macho militancy that attempts to control change from above. It cannot be a kind of more-radical-than-you stance that occupies a fixed position or argues for a single way forward.

How do we create situations where we feel more alive and capable than before? What makes the intransigence of oppression feel a little less stable? What might create more room to move and breathe? What supports people to refuse the all-too-common traps of moralism, clarity, or perfectionism in favor of increasing collective power and creativity? The answers to these questions are infinitely varied and complex. Being militant about collective, enabling transformation is about trust in people's capacities to figure out this way forward together, along with a willingness to participate openly in the process.

Chapter 2: Friendship, Freedom, Ethics, Affinity

To become what we need to each other, and to find power in friendship, is to become dangerous.

-anonymous[41]

I have a circle of friends and family with whom I am radically vulnerable and trust deeply-we call it coevolution through friendship.

-adrienne maree brown[42]

The urgency of making kin

Empire works in part by constantly attenuating and poisoning relationships. Kinship has been enclosed within the nuclear family, freedom within the individual, and values within morality. Together, these enclosures sap relationships of their intensity and their transformative potential. If relationships are what compose the world and our lives, then the "free individual" of modern, Western capitalism (an implicitly straight, white, able-bodied, cis-gendered, property-owning man) is a sad and lonely vision: a strange fiction invented by a violent and fearful society, walled in by morality and self-interest. This is an uprooted being who sees his rootlessness-his very incapacity to make and sustain transformative connections-as a feat of excellence.

We suggest that Empire's grip on relationships is being broken by new and resurgent forms of intimacy through which people come to depend on each other, defend each other, and become dangerous together. Friendship as freedom, in this story, names interdependent relationships as a source of collective power, a dangerous closeness that Empire works to eradicate through relentless violence, division, competition, management, and incitements to see ourselves as isolated individuals or nuclear family units.

Spinoza helps us dissolve the fiction of the modern Western individual-and its oscillation between self-interest and morality-into a relational ethics. A lot of people already navigate their everyday lives in this way, attuned and responsive to their own situations and relationships. Along these lines, we draw on a minor current of anarchism associated with Gustav Landauer and others that centers relationships as the basis of resistance and movement. We bring these currents into conversation with Indigenous worldviews and practices, along with the ethical questions that are being asked and answered in a multiplicity of ways, in different places, around decolonizing relationships between settlers and Indigenous people. This conversation always includes questions of how to sever harmful relationships. Freedom, in this sense, is not just the capacity to generate "good" relationships, but also to draw lines in the sand and fight.

Friendship is the root of freedom

These are not just words; they are clues and prods to earthquakes in kin making that are not limited to Western family apparatuses, heteronormative or not.

-Donna Haraway[44]

Freedom and friendship used to mean the same thing: intimate, interdependent relationships and the commitment to face the world together. At its root, relational freedom isn't about being unrestricted: it might mean the capacity for interconnectedness and attachment. Or mutual support and care. Or shared gratitude and openness to an uncertain world. Or a new capacity to fight alongside others. But this is not what freedom has come to mean under Empire.

The power or right to act, speak, or think as one wants:

"we do have some freedom of choice"

The state of not being imprisoned or enslaved:

"the shark thrashed its way to freedom"

The state of not being subject to or affected by (something undesirable):

"government policies to achieve freedom from want"[45]

At bottom, all of these definitions are about getting away from external restriction or influence: being unhindered, unaffected, independent. Under capitalism, freedom is especially associated with free markets and the free agent who chooses based on individual preferences. In spite of colonization and capitalism, this vapid form of freedom still can't get a foothold in many parts of the world. Even in Europe, where so many tools of colonization were refined, the roots of freedom were different. Centuries ago, some Europeans had a more relational conception of freedom, which wasn't just about the absence of external constraints, but also about our immersion in the relationships that sustain us and make us thrive.

"Freedom" and "friend" share the same early Indo-European root: , meaning "love."[46] This root made its way into Gothic, Norse, Celtic, Hindi, Russian, and German.[47] A thousand years ago, the Germanic word for "friend" was the present participle of the verb freon, "to love." This language also had an adjective, *frija-. It meant "free" as in "not in slavery," where the reason to avoid slavery was to be among loved ones. Frija meant "beloved, belonging to the circle of one's beloved friends and family."[48] As the Invisible Committee writes in To Our Friends,

"Friend" and "free" in English ... come from the same Indo-European root, which conveys the idea of a shared power that grows. Being free and having ties was one and the same thing. I am free because I have ties, because I am linked to a reality greater than me."[49]

A few centuries later, freedom became untied from connectedness. The seventeenth-century philosopher Thomas Hobbes imagined freedom as nothing more than an "absence of opposition" possessed by isolated, selfish individuals. For Hobbes, the free man is constantly armed and on guard: "When going to sleep, he locks his doors; when even in his house he locks his chests."[50] The free individual lives in fear, and can only feel secure when he knows there are laws and police to protect him and his possessions. He is definitely he, because this individual is also founded on patriarchal male supremacy and its associated divisions of mind/body, aggression/submission, rationality/emotion, and so on. His so-called autonomy is inseparable from his exploitation of others.

When peasants were "freed," during this period, it often meant that they had been forced from their lands and their means of subsistence, leaving them "free" to sell their labor for a wage in the factories, or starve. It is no coincidence that these lonely conceptions of freedom arose at the same time as the European witch trials, the enclosure of common lands, the rise of the transatlantic slave trade, and the colonization and genocide of the Americas. At the same time as the meaning of freedom was divorced from friendship and connection, the lived connections between people and places were being dismembered.

As Empire was enclosing lands and bodies, it was overseeing the enclosure of thought as well. The Age of Reason was marked by a new kind of knowledge that could subdue and control nature and the human body, enabling capitalist rationalization and work discipline.[51] Time and space would become measurable, stable, and fixed. Bodies were no longer conduits for magical forces, but machines to be harnessed for production. Plants, animals, and other non-human creatures were no longer kin, but objects to be dissected and consumed.

Even among intellectuals in Europe, not everyone agreed with Hobbes's fearful vision of freedom and the divisions imposed by Cartesian thought. Descartes's contemporary, Baruch Spinoza, articulated a philosophy in which people were inherently intertwined with their world. Spinoza left instructions for his most important work, the Ethics, to be published after his death, because he knew he would likely face torture and execution for the ways his relational worldview undermined both monotheistic religion and the dualistic philosophy that was emerging during his own time. Instead of a passive Nature on one hand and an active, supernatural God on the other, Spinoza envisioned a holistic reality in which God is present in all things, and in which all things are active and dynamic processes. Everything is alive and connected. Mind and body, human and non-human, joy and sadness, are intertwined with one another.

We do not mean to present Spinoza's philosophy as a handbook for living in today's world. In many ways, Spinoza remained a product of his time and place: he used the geometric method to create proofs for his philosophical claims, he couldn't overcome patriarchal divisions, and he remained wedded to the state as a vehicle for security. Our interest is not in Spinoza himself, or even his philosophy as a whole, but in the way that his ideas are part of a minor current in Western thought that is more relational, holistic, and dynamic. Spinoza's work remains marginal compared to that of Descartes and Hobbes, but his relational worldview has nevertheless been taken up by radicals at the margins of philosophy, ecology, feminism, marxism and anarchism.[52]

Most importantly, for us, Spinoza's philosophy is grounded in affect.[53] Things are not defined by what they are, but by what they do: how they affect and are affected by the forces of the world. In this way, capabilities are not fixed for all time, but are constantly shifting. This is a fundamental departure from the inherently ableist and ageist perspective that measures all bodies in relation to the norm of a "healthy," "mature," or "able" body. When starting right from a body's material specificity, without any intervening "should," learning becomes fundamentally different: rather than detached categorization or observation of stable properties, it happens through active experimentation in shared, ever-changing situations.

From morality to ethics

By creating a philosophy based in affect, Spinoza initiated a radical critique of ruling institutions and authorities and the ways they exercise control through subjection, including toxic morality inherited from centuries of Christianity, heteropatriarchy, capitalism, and the state. But Spinoza's philosophy did not just undermine Empire's dominant morality in order to replace it with a different one; it undermined morality itself. His worldview was at odds with any notion of an ultimate ground of right and wrong that was uniform for everyone, abstracted from the lively flux of relationships and situations. For Spinoza, life was an exploration of the forces of the world, not conformity to a fixed ideal.

For moralists this is dangerous because there's no guarantee against evil, and no ultimate foundation for moral judgment. Yet the Spinozan lineage is not about everyone doing whatever they please, according to isolated interests and preferences. On the contrary, recognizing our interconnectedness means becoming capable of more fidelity to our web of relations and our situations, not less. This fidelity is not moral; it is ethical.

Ethics is often spoken of colloquially as an individual morality: a static set of principles held by individuals (ethical consumption, codes of ethics, and so on). In fact, dictionary definitions conflate ethics with the "moral principles that govern a person's behavior."[54] But as Deleuze explains, a Spinozan conception of ethics results in a completely different set of questions:

There's a fundamental difference between Ethics and Morality. Spinoza doesn't make up a morality, for a very simple reason: he never asks what we must do, he always asks what we are capable of, what's in our power, ethics is a problem of power, never a problem of duty. In this sense Spinoza is profoundly immoral. Regarding the moral problem, good and evil, he has a happy nature because he doesn't even comprehend what this means. What he comprehends are good encounters, bad encounters, increases and diminutions of power. Thus he makes an ethics and not at all a morality.[55]

Whereas morality asks and answers the question: "what should one do?" a Spinozan ethics asks: "what is one capable of?" Unlike the cold abstraction of morality, a body's capacities can only be discovered through attunement and experimentation, starting right where you are. You never know until you try. In trying, whether you "succeed" or "fail," you will have learned and changed, and the situation will have changed, even if only slightly. This sounds simple, and in many ways it is. It speaks to the ways that many of us already try to navigate our everyday lives: not by adhering to fixed commandments, but by learning to inhabit our own situations in ways that make us more capable and more jointly alive.

Someone gets in touch with bird migrations, insects, weather patterns: they affect her more and more deeply as she tunes into their rhythms, over months and years. They begin to make her up. The loss is palpable as fewer return each year, and her hatred of the destruction grows alongside her love of the few remaining refuges for non-human creatures where she lives. Her rage and despair finds resonance with others, similarly entwined, and they figure out how to fight together. This is neither individual self-interest, nor moral altruism. It is relational ethics: the willingness to nurture and defend relationships.[56]

Two friends fold their lives together; they draw new capacities out of each other. They hurt each other, and they work through it, emerging more intertwined than before. They are no longer sure which ideas and mannerisms were "their own" and which belonged to the friend. They know each other's triggers and tendencies, intimately. One finds himself in trouble, and the other drops everything to help, at great personal risk. But this risk and sacrifice is not because it is morally right, or because they have calculated that it is in their own self-interest. It is not even felt as a choice; it is something drawn out of them.

Ethics is the dynamic space beyond static morality and vapid self-interest: it is the capacity to be responsive to the relationships that make us up. Whether consciously or not, our desires and choices are the product of everything that affects us. While this kind of thinking and practice may be intuitive, it runs against dominant strands of both Western knowledge and morality, which strive for universalism and generalizability: they tend towards pinning things down, dictating how we should act, or predicting what is likely. They ask what humans are and always will be, what we should always do, or what we usually do (and how we can be controlled). In contrast, a Spinozan ethics is attuned to the singularity and openness of each situation: what are we capable of here and now, together, at this time, in this place, amid the relations in which we are embedded?

From this perspective, it is not about creating self-contained units, but about participating in complex, shifting, relational processes. We always begin in the middle: amid our situations, in our neighborhoods, with our own penchants, habits, loves, complicities, and connections. There is no individual that comes before the dense network of relations in which we're embedded. This relational space eludes the traps of individual self-interest and moral duty. It is a space beyond isolated individuals and altruistic saviors. We are always participating in the making of our worlds, and being made by them. From this perspective, freedom can mean nothing other than the ethical expansion of what we're capable of-what we're able to feel and do together. In this vein, the Invisible Committee writes,

Freedom isn't the act of shedding our attachments, but the practical capacity to work on them, to move around in their space, to form or dissolve them ... the freedom to uproot oneself has always been a fantasmic freedom. We can't rid ourselves of what binds us without at the same time losing the very thing to which our forces would be applied.[57]

Freedom here is not the absence of restriction or attachment, but the capacity to become more active in shaping our attachments. This becoming-active is not about controlling things, but about learning to participate in their flow, forming intense bonds through which we become implicated in each other's struggles and capacities. Within the Spinozan current, friendship is being revalued: not as a bond between individuals, but as an ethical relation that remakes us, together, in an ongoing process of becoming otherwise. Similarly, feminist philosopher Donna Haraway has argued that "making kin" across divides of species, nation, gender, and other borders is perhaps the most urgent task today.[58] Through friendship or kinship we undo ourselves and become new, in potentially radical and dangerous ways. In this sense, friendship is at the root of freedom.

What can friendship do?

Friendship will be the soil from which a new politics will emerge.

-Ivan Illich[59]

Can friendship be revalued as a radical, transformative form of kinship? We are not sure, but we want to try. Maybe the concept of friendship is already too colonized by liberalism and capitalism. Under neoliberalism, friendship is a banal affair of private preferences: we hang out, we share hobbies, we make small talk. We become friends with those who are already like us, and we keep each other comfortable, rather than becoming different and more capable together. The algorithms of Facebook and other social networks guide us towards the refinement of our profiles, reducing friendship to the click of a button.[60] This neoliberal friend is the alternative to hetero- and homonormative coupling: "just friends" implies a much weaker and insignificant bond than a lover could ever be. Under neoliberal friendship, we don't have each other's backs, and our lives aren't tangled up together. But these insipid tendencies do not mean that friendships are pointless; only that friendship is a terrain of struggle. Empire works to usher its subjects into flimsy relationships where nothing is at stake, and to infuse intimacy with violence and domination. Perhaps friendship can be revalued in an expansive but specific way: friends, chosen family, and other kin, intimately connected in a web of mutual support.

Intersecting currents of disability justice, youth liberation, queer movements, feminism, ecology, anarchism, Indigenous resurgence, and Black liberation have all emphasized the centrality of nurturing strong relationships. In our conversation with Glen Coulthard, he emphasized that joyful militancy can never be an individual choice, because transformation happens in and through relationships:

The first move toward some sort of self-affirmation or resurgence is often registered in a very negative reaction: hate, envy, these sorts of things ... This complicates the story a bit. In order to have a kind of joyful militant positionality or whatever, it requires a whole lot of other overwhelming positions on the world. And that is where I think relationships are crucial. I don't think that this is even possible to come to on your own. Am I going to respond to this oppressive situation through a form of self-destruction, or am I going to try and live with it, or am I going to channel it into more community-building efforts? And I don't think that's ever done in a silo. Those are comrades that are working together in order to achieve that position. Those are through the hard conversations ranging from interventions to who-knows-what, just recognizing that some relationships seem to be more empowering than others. So getting to be the joyful militant is complicated. It's a product of relationships. It's not the effect of doing relationships well; it's because we're already in relationships of solidarity. We're helping each other out, we're drawing people out of the negative into more positive relationships. Joyful militants aren't choosing and saying "oh, I'm going to do this."

It's because I'm being interpellated into more positive relationships which provide me with different perspectives on the world, that draw me away from what would be entirely acceptable and rational, and that's despair. How do we not have despair in these situations that we're in? It's because relationships are drawing us away from that to the extent that they can, to the extent that they're successful. A joyful militant is less a product of a will to do so; there's a work, we're constantly working on each other. I'm not gonna blame the individual person if they're in a situation that is clearly miserable.[61]

In these times, feelings of despair, rage, and hatred make sense. Maybe they even indicate a healthy receptivity to what is taking place; a refusal to numb ourselves to the pain and violence of Empire. To shame people for being in touch with all this, or to tell them to pull themselves out of it, simply individualizes suffering. Change comes not from individuals, but from this "constant working on each other," which we have called ethics and relational freedom. It might entail supporting each other to become more present with despair, guilt, resentment, fear, or grief. It might include channeling anger into attacking Empire, blocking its flows, or breaking its hold, at least in part. Freedom is the space that opens when knee-jerk reactions and stifling habits are suspended. It is the parent learning to trust their kid. It is the teen who flees a violent home with support from friends. It is the scream of refusal that elicits rage and action from others. But the key is that one never does any of this alone, whether a humble gesture causing a subtle shift, or a decisive act catalyzing dramatic change. Freedom, gentleness, and militancy always come from-and feed back into-the web of relationships and affections in which everyone is immersed.

By creating relational webs that reinforce the values we aspire to, relationships can help undo patterns that Empire has ingrained. Loving relationships can be what allow us to face the things we fear about ourselves. They can help undo the ways that we have internalized notions that we are not good enough, not worthy of love, or that we have to put up with things that deplete us and those we care about. Relationships of mutual love and support can enable us to see and feel the toxicity of some of our attachments. They can help us to look at our patterns of addiction or depression without shame. Those we love can be our reasons to stay alive when we aren't sure that we want to. They can help us leave miserable situations by leaping with us into the unknown. Friendships can be the source of our capacity to take risks and get in the way of violence and exploitation. They can be what make us dangerous and capable of fighting in new ways. This might be something like what "friend" meant to some of our European ancestors before the witch trials: not just someone to hang out with, but someone whose existence is inseparable from one's own. A relationship crucial to life, worth fighting for.

A persnickety linguist or historian might object that there is no unbroken line of insurgent friendship that lies hidden in history. These critics are right: it is a zigzagging, disjointed line, always being broken and reassembled, a story among other stories, resonant with many other non-European genealogies of relational freedom. But this elusiveness is what makes it precious and powerful: it is people's capacity to constantly form new complicities amid terror and violence.

Solidarity begins at home

I don't need to be empowered by adults; I need them to stop having power over me.

-Lilah Joy Bergman, age 9

While friendship is made vapid by Empire, coupledom and the nuclear family become the container for all other forms of intimacy. As anti-racist, Indigenous, and autonomist feminists have shown, the nuclear family-where one generation of parents lives with one generation of children, separated from everyone else-is a recent invention of Empire.[62] It was (and is) a crucial institution for the privatization and enclosure of life. It is also central to the maintenance of a culture of authoritarianism, abuse, and neglect that underpins heteropatriarchy and white supremacy. It evolved as a way of reproducing wage-laboring men through the unpaid labor of women. Violence against women and children within the family was condoned as part of a civilizing process, and it became a conduit for intergenerational violence, and for the accumulation of white wealth and property through inheritance.

Through feminist struggle, some of the most brutal, state-sanctioned violences of the nuclear family (such as legalized rape and abuse) have been challenged, but it remains a site of isolation and violence, for children in particular. One of its most brutal effects is that it makes other forms of intimacy difficult or unthinkable for many of us. Through suburbs and apartments designed for a privatized existence, the nuclear family is even coded into the built environment.

At the same time, people are constantly inventing and recovering other kinds of belonging and intimacy. They are creatively collectivizing and communalizing life, sharing income, food, and housing in ways that break down privatization and segregation. As Silvia Federici writes,

We also have a return to more extended types of families, built not on blood ties but on friendship relations. This, I think, is a model to follow. We are obviously in a period of transition and a great deal of experimentation, but opening up the family - hetero or gay - to a broader community, breaking down the walls that increasingly isolated it and prevented it from confronting its problems in a collective way is the path we must take not to be suffocated by it, and instead strengthen our resistance to exploitation. The denuclearisation of the family is the path to the construction of communities of resistance.[63]

Many Indigenous people, people of color, and queer folks have never been invited into the structure of the nuclear family, and they have always made kin in other ways. Queer chosen families have created intimate, intergenerational webs of support, and these radical ties remain alive in spite of new forms of homonormative capture. As Dean Spade writes,

In the queer communities I'm in valuing friendship is a really big deal, often coming out of the fact that lots of us don't have family support, and build deep supportive structures with other queers. We are interested in resisting the heteronormative family structure in which people are expected to form a dyad, marry, have kids, and get all their needs met within that family structure. A lot of us see that as unhealthy, as a new technology of post-industrial late capitalism that is connected to alienating people from community and training them to think in terms of individuality, to value the smaller unit of the nuclear family rather than the extended family.[64]

Similarly, bell hooks points to traditions of informal adoption in Black communities, in which people adopted and cared for children in ways that were communally recognized but never sanctioned by the state:

Let's say you didn't have any children and your neighbor had eight kids. You might negotiate with her to adopt a child, who would then come live with you, but there would never be any kind of formal adoption, yet everybody would recognize her as your "play daughter." My community was unusual in that gay black men were also able to informally adopt children. And in this case there was a kinship structure in the community where people would go home and visit their folks if they wanted to, stay with them (or what have you), but they would also be able to stay with the person who was loving and parenting them.[65]

Leanne Simpson, writing on Indigenous nationhood, notes how resurgence entails displacing settler colonialism and the nuclear family with "big, beautiful, diverse, extended multiracial families of relatives and friends that care very deeply for each other."[66] In many ways, these kinds of relationships make possible and sustain the creation of intergenerational forms of organizing that include kids and elders, and break down divides between public and private. Simpson spoke to the importance of this when we interviewed her:

How change happens matters to me, which is why I don't spend much time lobbying the state. I believe in creating the change on the ground, and creating and living the alternatives. In my nation, children and Elders are critical, and it means we organize differently. You can't invite kids to a twelve-hour, boring meeting and then get frustrated because they are bored or frustrated because they won't stay with the childcare worker they've never met. You can't invite the Elders to welcome people to the territory and then not speak to the issues. I think we actually need to do less organizing and more movement building. Right now, we have activists, not leaders. We have actions, not community. My kids are also fundamentally not interested in "the movement." They are, however, fundamentally interested in doing things.[67]

These kinds of non-nuclear kinship networks have been sustained in the face of state terrorism and incarceration, residential and boarding schools, and Empire's ongoing attempts to privatize and destroy non-nuclear kinship networks, extended families, and webs of relationships that include non-human kin. Nourishing and sustaining these communal forms of life throws into question some of the dominant ideas about what counts as political work, about separation of activism or organizing from everyday life. They challenge the segregation of kids from the rest of the world (and from organizing and politics in particular) and the ways that elders are isolated and intergenerational connections are lost.

Creating intergenerational webs of intimacy and support is a radical act in a world that has privatized child-rearing, housing, subsistence and decision-making. Challenging the nuclear family is not about a puritanical rejection of anything that resembles it; it is about creating alternatives to its hegemony, to the dismembering of social relations, to the spatial division of people through suburbanization, incarceration, schooling, dispossession, and displacement. This entails the proliferation of relationships that may or may not be based on blood but are built on care and love. The Latin American political theorist Raúl Zibechi argues that non-nuclear family and kinship networks are at the heart of Latin America's most transformative and militant movements, including those of Indigenous peoples, peasant farmers, landless and homeless movements, piqueteros, and women's and youth movements.[68] These collective forms of life are based in new forms of dwelling, subsistence, and resistance. At the same time, Zibechi is clear that these are "only tendencies, aspirations, or attempts in the midst of social struggles."[69] Relationships of mutual support are not a destination but a continual process of struggle.

As people renew intergenerational relationships and bring their whole lives into struggle, new forms of politics emerge. In this context, Silvia Federici argues,

This is why the idea of creating "self-reproducing" movements has been so powerful. It means creating a certain social fabric and forms of co-operative reproduction that can give continuity and strength to our struggles, and a more solid base to our solidarity. We need to create forms of life in which political activism is not separated from the task of our daily reproduction, so that relations of trust and commitment can develop that today remain on the horizon. We need to put our lives in common with the lives of other people to have movements that are solid and do not rise up and then dissipate. Sharing reproduction, this is what began to happen within the Occupy Movement and what usually happens when a struggle reaches a moment of almost insurrectional power. For example, when a strike goes on for several months, people begin to put their lives in common because they have to mobilise all their resources not to be defeated.[70]

Federici here gets at the way in which care is not only a means of maintaining struggles, but a transformative part of struggle itself. While Empire works to privatize and individualize our daily lives, many movements are reproducing themselves more autonomously by collectivizing care: from cooking to cohabitation to learning to just being present with each other.

Friendship, kinship, and communalization have also been at the heart of working across the hierarchical divides of heteropatriarchy, white supremacy, colonization, ableism, ecocide, and other systems that have taught us to enact violence on each other and internalize oppressive ways of relating. To make kin across these divisions is a precarious and radical act. Everyone knows how difficult this can be, and how people fuck up, hurt each other, and blame each other. Those conscripted into oppressive roles can always fall back into old habits. In some cases, people are able to talk about all this in ways that are subtle, gentle, and more attuned to each other's tendencies, triggers, and gifts, and genuine relations of support emerge. In the context of queer, anti-racist disability justice, Mia Mingus speaks to the centrality of strong relationships for undoing oppression:

Any kind of systematic change we want to make will require us to work together to do it. And we have to have relationships strong enough to hold us as we go up against something as powerful as the state, the medical industrial complex, the prison system, the gender binary system, the church, immigration system, the war machine, global capitalism.

Because we're going to mess up. Of that I am sure. We cannot, on the one hand have sharp analysis about how pervasive systems of oppression and violence are and then on the other hand, expect people to act like that's not the world we exist in. Of course there are times we are going to do and say oppressive things, of course we are going to hurt each other, of course we are going to be violent, collude in violence or accept violence as normal.

We must roll up our sleeves and start doing the hard work of learning how to work through conflict, pain and hurt as if our lives depended on it-because they do.[71]

Between the authors of this book, friendship has required us to negotiate divisions ingrained in our bodies by ageism, patriarchy, capitalism, and ableism. Sometimes these divisions get in the way of our capacity to connect in ways that are enabling and transformative. Patriarchy has socialized Nick, as a man, to be self-assured, (over)confident, rational, and individualistic. carla has been socialized to be submissive, caring, diffident, and to put others before herself. Even as we worked against some of these tendencies, carla ended up doing more emotional and caring labor for this project and Nick ended up doing more labor when it came to writing and editing. We have also been learning to challenge these divisions, always partially and inconsistently, through processes of mutual growth, support, and (un)learning. In part because of our very different life experiences, skill sets, and perspectives, our collaborative process has enabled us to produce something new together and made us both more capable in new ways. Neither of us could have written this book, or anything like it, alone.

The ethics of affinity in anarchism

Ultimately, nourishing these kinds of intimacies means putting relationships before abstract political commitments and ideologies. At the same time, we think it is possible to recover relational currents within anti-authoritarian political traditions without appropriating the ideas and struggles of others. Within anarchism, the Spinozan current flows through Gustav Landauer's relational conception of anarchism. Landauer's philosophy ran against the grain of the dominant strands of revolutionary Marxism and anarchism of his time, which conceived revolution as a dramatic event that would take place in the future. Instead of envisioning a future event of transformation in which capitalism and the state would be destroyed and all of humanity could be liberated, Landauer insisted on the importance of a living, present anarchism, and on transforming our relationships here and now.

Landauer also argued that the state's power lies not only with armies or police, but in its capacity to get us to govern ourselves and each other, and to recreate its hierarchical and divisive relationships through our conduct:

A table can be overturned and a window can be smashed. However, those who believe that the state is also a thing or a fetish that can be overturned or smashed are sophists and believers in the Word. The state is a social relationship; a certain way of people relating to one another. It can be destroyed by creating new social relationships; i.e., by people relating to one another differently.[72]

The state and capitalism are systems designed to amass wealth for a tiny minority, and while Empire's figureheads are people with names and addresses, others will replace them when they are gone. Instead of destroying Empire, Landauer raised the question of how to undo its hold on relationships, and how to generate new and different relations in its place. This is an ethical question, not a moral one. Like Spinoza, he suggested that that there was no single answer for everyone. He insisted that a notion of worldwide socialism or anarchism was too totalizing, and he recognized that other people and cultures would have different answers to the question of how to live:

We have long enough misunderstood socialism as a vague, general ideology, a magic wand that opens all doors and solves all problems. We should know by now that everything out in the world as well as within our souls is so jumbled that there will never be only one way to happiness. So what I am advocating here has nothing to do with a call on humanity. We have to realize that different cultures exist next to each other and that the dream that all should be the same cannot be sustained - in fact, it is not even a beautiful dream.[73]

In a way that resonates with many anti-authoritarian currents of today, Landauer refused to hold anarchism up as a single moral or ideological project that would free all of humanity from oppression. But while refusing this universalizing project, Landauer was also critical of individualist anarchists like Max Stirner, who also refused morality but rooted his philosophy in the liberation of the individual ego or desire.[74] In contrast, Landauer insisted that individual people could not be abstracted from their already existing relationships, values, and communities. Like the state, the self-enclosed individual is a fiction of Empire. "I" am already a crowd, enmeshed in others.

For Landauer then, transformation was an immediate, situated, ethical project that could only be based on transforming ourselves, collectively, starting from where we are, and seeking out affinities with others. "Only when anarchy becomes, for us, a dark, deep dream, not a vision attainable through concepts," Landauer wrote, "can our ethics and our actions become one."[75] Similarly, scott crow writes, "Anarchism is not rigid, it is flexible and fluid so cast aside your thoughts about the way it 'should' be and help make it what it 'could be.'"[76] Freedom, in this sense, is not the absence of Empire, secured through a glorious future revolution or the triumph of an anarchist blueprint. Freedom is the capacity to grapple with some of the toxic habits and relationships fostered by Empire, and to recover other ways of relating. This anarchism can only be an action or a process.

Anarchist political theorist Richard Day has drawn on Landauer, Kropotkin, and others to reveal a current of anarchism that is about the capacity to create immediate, living alternatives to the state, capitalism, morality, and Empire's oppressive divisions. There are always forms of alliance and mutual aid that exceed Empire, from the ways plants and animals support each other symbiotically, to everyday forms of cooperation and solidarity that crop up in spite of subjection. Day calls this the logic of affinity, which is "ever-present, even in the most advanced forms of (post)industrial bureaucratic control. It is not a dream, but an actuality; not something to be yearned for, but something to be noticed in operation everywhere, at every moment of every day."[77] From this perspective, affinity can be discerned in every process of joyful transformation, large and small, in which people discover new capacities together, resist, invent, or activate something that is already in play. The capacity to carve out autonomous forms of life is always under attack by Empire, and always resurfacing.

This concept of affinity is important to us because it gets at the way forms of life can connect based in shared commitments or desires without erasing differences. We follow Day in suggesting that there is an "affinity for affinity" among currents of Indigenous, anti-racist, anti-colonial, migrant justice, anarchist, feminist, ecological, queer, and autonomist currents of thought and practice: a penchant for linking up and supporting others based on shared values and commitments without trampling on each other's autonomy.[78] It can be seen, for example, in the Zapatistas' vision of "a world where many worlds fit."[79] Similarly, affinity is resonant with what Gloria Anzaldúa calls "bridging" in This Bridge We Call Home:

Bridging is the work of opening the gate to the stranger, within and without. To step across the threshold is to be stripped of the illusion of safety because it moves us into unfamiliar territory and does not grant safe passage. To bridge is to attempt community, and for that we must risk being open to personal, political, and spiritual intimacy, to risk being wounded. Effective bridging comes from knowing when to close ranks to those outside our home, group, community, nation-and when to keep the gates open.[80]

These notions of affinity and bridging turn connection into an open-ended ethical question rather than an assumption, a goal, or a moral imperative. How do we relate? Who is this "we"? How do we affect each other? How and when to be open, selectively? How might we be able to work together? These questions can only be answered by people in their own situations, as relationships unfold.

Connecting Spinozan currents to Indigenous resurgence

While we hope some of the affinities between Spinozan currents and Indigenous worldviews are emergent throughout this chapter, we want to spend some time thinking about them directly, especially in light of the relational conceptions we have outlined above. We think the relational conceptions of anarchism and friendship are resonant with (though necessarily distinct from) the lifeways of Indigenous peoples and many other societies that ground their worlds in connectedness to each other and the places they inhabit. For instance, writer and facilitator Zainab Amadahy offers a "relationship framework" that sees all life as fundamentally interconnected:

We two-leggeds are inter-connected with each other and with other life on the planet -- indeed, even to the planet itself and beyond. What we think, say, and do impacts, directly and indirectly, everything and everyone else, which also affect us. We are further impacted by ancestors and will impact generations to come. Some of us even believe the reverse; that we can impact our ancestors and that our descendants impact us. In any case, we are clearly "in relationship" whether we acknowledge, fully understand and respect the concept or not.[81]

In our conversation with Glen Coulthard, he elaborated on his notion of place-based Indigenous ethics, which he calls "grounded normativity." Coulthard shows how Indigenous resistance and values are literally grounded in the ongoing renewal of reciprocal relationships with land:

I don't think you come to these things on your own. We're always kind of embedded and constituted by what's around us. The whole book I wrote [ Red Skin, White Masks] is based on this. I'm nothing; I'm just a product of the messy relationships that have formed me over time. And the point about the book is, we've tended to think of these relationships as anthropocentric. But we're also shaped by the other-than-human relations that we're thrown into, including relationships to place and land itself, and that can have an effect on our perspective; it can shape our normativities, or what we think is right or wrong.[82]

Red Skin, White Masks shows how these relational webs have been foundational for Indigenous resurgence against settler colonialism, and inexorably connected to the struggle over land:

The theory and practice of Indigenous anticolonialism, including Indigenous anticapitalism, is best understood as a struggle primarily inspired by and oriented around the question of land-a struggle not only for land in the material sense, but also deeply informed by what the land as system of reciprocal relations and obligations can teach us about living our lives in relation to one another and the natural world in nondominating and nonexploitative terms.[83]

From this perspective, settler colonialism is an attack on Indigenous bodies and lands, and on the grounded normativities that sustain them. It is an attack on Indigenous forms of life. For the same reason, Coulthard suggests that recovering, sustaining, and defending these forms of life becomes crucial to decolonization and resistance:

Repetition, doing things, shapes how you see things. And depending on what that practice is, it can double back and shape how you do things. And in a land-based context, that kind of cyclical, dual conditioning-how we produce the necessities of our lives shapes our spiritual understandings and those can, over time, double back and shape how we go about doing things in the material sense. What we're seeing now to validate this is that Indigenous people have been dragged away from those practices violently, into other ones oriented around a different mode of production, a different way of producing the necessities of life, through resource extraction, and that is now shaping our normative worlds; what we see as right or wrong. And it's because these long-standing practices are being disrupted. Now what we're doing with Dechinta and other land-based practices is we're re-establishing-in an impure form because we're all learning again-these different normative practices and worlds. And an important part of that is our relationship with land and other-than-human kin. So prefiguration is that emphasis on the importance of practice, and shaping even what we think our ends should be ... it's a very practical ethics ... That's not to devalue it; I actually hold this more valuable than abstract normative traditions where you have to dissociate yourself from your relationships in order to come up with pure principles, and that just results in a never-ending, always-there gap between what our ideals are, and where our shitty world is at. It justifies that. In theory we have it nailed down, we just haven't quite approximated that in our lives and institutions. In contrast, the grounded normativity, practical, prefigurative starting place is saying no, those ideals are formed by what we do with our lives-by the relationships that we sustain and renew.[84]

In a way that resonates with the relational conception of anarchism we explored above, Coulthard speaks to the importance of prefiguration: nurturing relationships informed by reciprocity with human and other-than-human kin. Similarly, in her book Dancing on Our Turtle's Back, Leanne Simpson writes that she is "not so concerned with how we dismantle the master's house, that is, which set of theories we use to critique colonialism; but I am very concerned with how we (re)build our own house, or our own houses.[85]

Recovering forms of life that have been subjugated or ruled out entails resistance and transgressing of laws or norms, but these negations are only what is visible from the perspective of Empire. It is clear that this is not resistance for its own sake, or (only) because Empire is monstrous: resurgent forms of life are also about values and connections worth defending and nurturing.

While there may be resonances with anarchism, Coulthard and Simpson are speaking about the resurgence of specific, Indigenous forms of life. Where we live, resonances and affinities between Indigenous and non-Indigenous forms of life are always marked by the violence of settler colonialism. Our lives are inextricably linked to structures bent on the eradication of Indigenous life and the exploitation of Indigenous land. Navigating these uncertain connections requires dealing with difficult ethical questions.

In our part of the world, it is clear that we are living in the midst of Indigenous resurgence. All over Turtle Island, Indigenous peoples are reasserting their ties and responsibilities to their lands, refusing the racist and heteropatriarchal divisions imposed by Empire, and recovering relationships based in care and consent. This is an intensification of what has been happening since colonization began.

For non-Indigenous people-and for white, European-descended settlers who live on Indigenous land, specifically-this can be profoundly unsettling. Can non-Indigenous people support Indigenous resurgence? Can alliances productively stretch across the colonial divide? Through messy, uneven processes, settlers and Indigenous peoples are answering these questions together. Many non-Indigenous people are beginning to see themselves as settlers, complicit in ongoing dispossession and colonization of Indigenous forms of life. Black and Indigenous communities are forging alliances to resist the intertwined violences of settler colonialism and anti-Blackness. As Luam Kidane and Jarrett Martineau write,

These dreams of freedom mean that our acts of resistance are inextricably linked as Afrikan peoples and Indigenous Peoples of Turtle Island. But fundamentally, what this means is that we need to seriously, purposefully and with urgency begin to look to each other-not to the state-for our self-determination.[86]

As Indigenous resurgence and Black uprising reshape life throughout North America, new affinities and new forms of co-resistance are emerging. It is increasingly clear that decolonization is fundamental to all struggles to dismantle Empire and live differently here and now in North America. Decolonization has fundamentally shifted the values, priorities, and organizing practices of many anarchists, anti-authoritarians, and other radicals. As Harsha Walia writes,

A growing number of social movements are recognizing that Indigenous self-determination must become the foundation for all our broader social justice mobilizing. Indigenous peoples in Canada are the most impacted by the pillage of lands, experience disproportionate poverty and homelessness, are overrepresented in statistics of missing and murdered women and are the primary targets of repressive policing and prosecutions in the criminal injustice system. Rather than being treated as a single issue within a laundry list of demands, Indigenous self-determination is increasingly understood as intertwined with struggles against racism, poverty, police violence, war and occupation, violence against women and environmental justice.[87]

Indigenous people have forged alliances with ranchers and farmers resisting pipelines, with migrants resisting border imperialism, and with Black communities resisting criminalization and the prison industrial complex. They have linked up with anarchists while challenging them to rethink colonial conceptions of nation, territory, tradition, and authority. Some settlers are learning to take responsibility for developing relationships with the people whose land they are on, and learning to support Indigenous leadership. Indigenous resurgence has pushed non-Indigenous people to learn the histories and protocols of the lands where they live, to ask what it means to honor treaties, and what it means to live on land where treaties were never signed. In our conversation with Coulthard, he spoke to the potential of recovering Indigenous and non-Indigenous subjugated knowledges and forms of life, and exploring affinities between them:

Coulthard: If those [Indigenous] relationships to land and place and those sustaining connections are destroyed, then our views change on what's good, what's just. So what we're trying to do in terms of land-based decolonizing education is to ensure that those practical relationships that inform our philosophical systems and vice versa are maintained to the best of our ability, and that requires a struggle and conflict with the forces that are trying to destroy it.

Nick and carla: It seems like white settlers are the ones who've allowed their own grounded normativities to be destroyed, or they have been destroyed, at least mostly. And we've been invited to participate in the destruction of Indigenous peoples' grounded normativities.

Coulthard: I think the point that's important here is that we're talking about hegemonies. So grounded normativities are being wiped out by a hegemonic system-a system of dominance. So when you say "the problem with settler life is that it's doing this," I would say, in my more generous moments, that the hegemonic settler form of life is destroying Indigenous forms of life, but settlers have a whole host of other grounded normativities that have themselves been violently ruled out of existence. Whether that's radical ecological stuff to anarchist stuff to Marxist stuff-whatever: they're subaltern knowledges and practices. And there are affinities between those that we can map out and explore. There's a lot within non-Indigenous settler traditions that have suffered their own erasure that might be brought back to the fore. And that's way better than the alternative, which is stealing what we've got. So what Foucault would refer to as a resurgence of subaltern knowledges. There's a rich history of overlap and affinities that I think need to be drawn on, and crucial to avoid the violences of cultural appropriation and "becoming Indigenous."[88]

Exploring affinities between Indigenous and non-Indigenous traditions and forms of life raises a lot of questions. There is a deep ambivalence to the recovery of non-Indigenous traditions, or the creation of new alternatives, especially those that involve direct connections to land. Deepening these relationships-with seasons, territories, plants, and other-than-human forces where we live-can end up entrenching dispossession and colonization.

From conservation to farming to fishing, many settler (especially European) traditions have evolved or been sustained through Indigenous dispossession and an attack on Indigenous forms of life. Settler colonialism has always included a project of attaching white bodies to Indigenous land, and attempts to "reclaim the commons" can erase Indigenous presence.

At the same time, there are emergent alliances and relationships between settlers and Indigenous people, based in consent and shared responsibility. Settlers are critically revaluing some of their own traditions in ways that enable new affinities and solidarities. Settlers have been able to offer their own practical land-connected skills and knowledge like herbalism, bioremediation, cooking, carpentry, ecological gardening and more, alongside the skills and knowledges held by Indigenous people.

In our experience, it has been settlers rooted in their own traditions and values who are most capable of building strong relationships with Indigenous peoples, showing up in meaningful ways, and decentering themselves and staying on the sidelines when it is appropriate. It is people with strong friendships-their own webs of care and support-who are able to consistently support decolonization, whether that means supporting frontline land defense struggles or urban Indigenous initiatives, or cultivating meaningful, long-term relationships with local Indigenous folks where they live.

These capacities are not based on abstract morality, nor are they about having the most bang-on anticolonial analysis. They are based on a web of connectivity that enables people to think and act differently. One thing that is clear to us about Indigenous resurgence is that it is driven and sustained by these deep connections and relationships that colonization seeks to destroy. Rebuilding and sustaining these connections is clearly at the root of decolonization-for Indigenous and non-Indigenous people, differently.

How can settlers and Indigenous people explore affinities between autonomous forms of life? What are the potentials and pitfalls of revitalizing non-Indigenous traditions (or inventing new ones) on stolen ground? These questions cannot be answered in the abstract, but are already being asked and answered collectively, over and over again, in multiple ways, across different territories, movements, and struggles. Hanging onto these as ethical questions, we think, helps get beyond the shame and guilt of moralism that can be so immobilizing (and counterproductive) for settlers-especially white settlers. Instead of the narcissistic shame that impels settlers to ask for and demand absolution from Indigenous peoples, ethical questions can shift people towards active responsibility that is rooted in consent, as Indigenous people often emphasize. For us, this means finding the wiggle room of freedom-the capacity to work on our relationships-and participate in new and old forms of nurturance and resistance.

Friendship and freedom have sharp edges

If one would have a friend, then must one also be willing to wage war for him: and in order to wage war, one must be capable of being an enemy.

-Friedrich Nietzsche[89]

Working on relationships also means the capacity to dissolve and sever them, and to block those which are harmful. Affinity and bridging require selective openness, with firm boundaries. In this sense, cultivating joyful militancy not only requires cultivating "good" relationships, but also severing those that are unhealthy and damaging. Coulthard drove this point home when we talked with him:

Part of the effect that you see in joyful militancy is an attentiveness to cultivating healthy relationships. And I think that that's great; there is a productive line of flight ... but sometimes-and this is kind of what I've been thinking a lot about since writing about reconciliation and resentment-is that the whole idea of a "good relationship"-a positive one instead of a negative one-is almost entirely co-opted by relationship-destroying structures that entrench violence, dispossession, disappearance, all these things, where we're always compelled to be productive. It's a compulsion that's insisted on and that is done asymmetrically across certain bodies. So it's a demand that's placed on us as Indigenous peoples, even in terms of having a conversation. It can even be about tone: your tone is negative ... Some relationships are just bullshit and we shouldn't be in them. We should actually draw lines in the sand more willingly, in order to avoid the kind of status quo outcome that's caused by the compulsion to always be in a positive relationship to others. Others might suck. We shouldn't be relating to them; we should be fighting them; we should be seeking to destroy them in some circumstances. Because their whole identity, their whole form of life is predicated on our negation. So that's why, in Canada, Canadians can't cease to exist in the sense that they understand themselves, because it's predicated on a genocidal relationship. And there can be no mutual recognition, there can be no mutual respect, because the relationship itself negates that possibility. And that's a pretty somber situation. It's not a joyful acknowledgement.[90]

Relational freedom necessarily includes undoing destructive relationships, dissolving or attacking depleting or harmful forces. Freedom is the capacity to make friends and enemies, to be open and to have firm boundaries. Joyful, deeply transformative relationships are only possible through vulnerability and trust, but they also entail the risk of being deeply hurt. In this context, Mia Mingus speaks to the importance of a kind of love that is assertive and accountable:

What I'm talking about is reinventing how we love each other and knowing that solidarity is love, collaboration is love. And really, isn't that what queerness is about: loving? I am talking about growing and cultivating a deep love that starts with those closest to us and letting it permeate out. Starting with our own communities. Building strong foundations of love.

And I just want to be clear, I am not talking about love that isn't accountable. I am not talking about staying in harmful and dangerous or abusive relationships. The kind of love I want us to grow is accountable and assertive. Really, I am talking about collective love, where we look out for each other.[91]

For this kind of collective love to exist, sometimes it is necessary to sever relationships. Sometimes friendship and close bonds are a messy mix of closeness, struggle, and distance. In this sense, Empire destroys our capacity to identify enemies, too: morality, policing, law, and prisons are all designed to monopolize the power to decide whose actions are right and wrong, and how they should be dealt with.

For the same reason, if reduced to an imperative to always have "good relationships" with everyone and everything, joyful militancy and friendship become simplistic, reactionary, and colonial in their erasure of power relations and systemic violence. This is the hegemonic morality of Empire-the notion that Indigenous people have to "get over" the past-and it plays itself out not only in state-based efforts at "reconciliation," but also among everyday relationships between settlers and Indigenous people that reinscribe settler entitlement. Leanne Simpson spoke to this forcefully when we asked her to share her perspective on the potential of friendship between settlers and Indigenous people:

Nick and carla: One of the themes that emerged in a lot of our interviews is the importance of trust and friendship for creating and sustaining joyful militancy and transformative movement infused with love. Under conditions of settler colonialism, trust and friendship between settlers and Indigenous people seems especially difficult, because settlers and our governments have violated this trust over and over, and broken trust is the status quo. What makes trust and friendship possible? Do you see it as an important part of decolonization?

Leanne Simpson: My honest answer is no, I don't. Friendship has been and is used by so-called white "allies" in pretty horrible ways-everything from "my friend is native and therefore ..." to using friendship as a mechanism to protect against white guilt, to using friendship to appropriate. Friendship for me is a crazy-intimate, personal decision and it isn't helpful for me to feel pressure to trust or be friends with people I don't trust and don't want to be friends with. The white allyship takes up a lot of space and it's a lot of work for Indigenous peoples. White people love being friends with Indigenous peoples. For me, there is huge gap in our life experiences, often our interests and our politics. That doesn't mean we can't find useful and strategic ways of working together but don't make me go to potlucks or backyard BBQs and make the assumption that my personal life is part of the movement. My personal life is not for the taking.

I also see that I have a responsibility to build trust and friendships within the Indigenous community. That is important work because the forces to divide us and make us hate each other are enormous. This does indeed make our movements strong because it's community building."[92]

For us, this gets at the danger of setting up friendship or affinity as an ideal, norm, or expectation, especially across the colonial divide and other hierarchical divisions created by Empire. While Simpson speaks to the importance of building trust and friendship among Indigenous people, she is clear that settlers (particularly white settlers seeking to be allies) often end up perpetuating extractive, entitled tendencies. For settlers, getting out of the way might be more important than seeking connection.

Just as intimacy and closeness can be enabling, they can also be sources of coercion, manipulation, and exploitation. To insist on, seek out, or use friendship-and to pathologize its refusal-tends to reinforce these divisions and hierarchies, rather than unravel them. It regenerates the worst of Empire, where oppressed people are expected to stay in oppressive relationships, and their refusal is dismissed as "counterproductive."

Similar patterns arise to pathologize women and genderqueer folks who refuse to "get over" heteropatriarchy, Black folks and people of color who refuse to "get over" racism, and everyone else who has experienced the liberal trope of "let's all get along." Entitlement to others' time, energy, and love can be an unconscious strategy that reproduces domination through intimacy. Love and friendship can be contorted to erase power and exploitation, enforcing obedience to oppressive norms of politeness or devotion.

Joyful militancy is not a way of dividing the world into "positive" and "negative" ways of being, or asking that we all get along and be happy together. Freedom always needs to retain the potential of refusal, negation, and resistance. To turn friendship into a solution or a goal is to erase the form of freedom we are getting at, which is the freedom to work at relationships-to participate more actively in the shaping of our worlds.

The active shaping of our worlds together

What makes people fight for each other, support each other in radical ways, and construct durable, loving bonds? What makes it possible for people to sever or dissolve stifling attachments or relationships? We do not think the answer is ideology; abstract political values might support short-term alliances, but we doubt their capacity to be the glue that holds people together in the long term. Instead, we suggest that strong relationships are the foundation of resistance. Recovering and sustaining deeper forms of friendship and kinship are indispensable for undoing Empire's hold.

Sometimes divisions get in the way and people hurt each other too much, too often. Sedimented habits continue to grip us, closing off potentials for being otherwise together. Maintaining transformative relationships is not easy in a world full of violence, in which Empire continually induces us (especially white, cis-male settlers) to construct flimsy relationships based in leisure, and to abandon them if they are no longer pleasurable. For many who live in big cities, don't have kids, and benefit from a lot of mobility, it is always possible to go somewhere else, to find another group of people to hang out with.

We can't all be friends, and some forms of life will never be compatible. This is the ethical basis of the logic of affinity, as well: it can never be a totally inclusive, come-one-come-all process, because this would mean welcoming the worst of Empire, and all of its toxic ways of relating. Some differences might mean that people cannot work together. Maybe. Differences might also signal potential for practices, orientations, and priorities that are resonant and complementary without becoming the same. Differences might then become starting points for new complicities and the growth of shared power.

If relationships are what compose the world-and what shape our desires, values, and capacities-then freedom is the capacity to participate more actively in this process of composition. Friendship and resistance are interconnected: when we are supported, we are more willing to confront that which threatens to destroy our worlds. Friendship and affinity are not things but processes and open questions, which produce partial responses, further questions, flashes of certainty and confidence, but never definitive answers.

Chapter 3: Trust and Responsibility as Common Notions

We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings.

-Ursula K. Le Guin[93]

Do not be afraid

Do not be cynical

Continue to trust yourself and others

Continue to dream of collective liberation

-scott crow[94]

Perhaps it is more important to be in community, vulnerable and real and whole, than to be right, or to be winning.

-adrienne maree brown[95]

Trust and responsibility as common notions

It is clear that capitalism-administered by left- and right-wing governments-is a disaster for people, non-humans, and the earth. However, cynicism and disillusionment do not necessarily lead to revolt or struggle. Empire's capacity for decentralized control no longer relies on legitimacy or faith. We do not have to believe capitalism is good for us, or that the state will help and protect us, so long as we remain enmeshed in Empire's radical monopoly over life, from schooling to law to the built environment that surrounds us.

In this chapter, we suggest that trust and responsibility are emerging in Empire's cracks. This is not about one way of trusting or a fixed set of responsibilities, but about the proliferation of different forms. A lot of what we get at in this chapter comes from carla's longstanding involvement in youth and kids' liberation movements, which fundamentally upend some of the basic assumptions embedded in many forms of organizing. To create intergenerational spaces where kids can thrive means holding space for play and emergence by warding off the twin pitfalls of individualism and conformity. This requires nurturing a baseline of trust, responsibility, and autonomy. We also draw on other movements that we have learned from and been challenged by, including Indigenous resurgence, transformative justice, and anti-violence, all of which emphasize the importance of relationship-based trust and responsibility.

Many of the most militant movements and insurrectionary spaces have emphasized trust as an indispensable part of their capacity to resist Empire and defend their insurgent forms of life. For instance, speaking of autonomous spaces carved out by anarchists in Greece, Tasos Sagris has suggested that "the main organizational form in Greece is friendship. We believe that friendship will be revolutionary. Very close, very good loving friends, that like each other, that spend their lives together, they trust one another. This is a part of the insurrection."[96] Similarly, Marina Sitrin argues that "groups that are grounded in trust and affect tend to be more militant. This is especially true for the recuperated workplaces in Argentina, and they reflect directly upon this. Knowing one another and working together for years built up a trust that helped when the time came to defend their workplaces physically (with molotovs, slingshots, etc)." Across North America and beyond, many Indigenous peoples are clear that their militancy stems from a responsibility to protect Indigenous land and life, animated by grounded normativities that we explored in the last chapter.

So what does it mean to nurture trust and responsibility? What do these concepts even mean today? Often trust is a catch-all word that suggests there is only one all-or-nothing way to trust, and this is part of the problem. Similarly, responsibility can be turned into a reductive set of stifling norms or duties. We want to walk with these questions: are there different kinds of trust? What makes it possible to trust people up front, without knowing them well? What does a joyful responsibility look and feel like? How can trust and responsibility be conceived and lived in ways that are open and enabling, rather than being imposed as fixed moral duties?

We suggest that these transformative capacities are not based in rigid ideologies or fixed ways of being. Joyful transformation is nurtured through what Spinoza called common notions: shared values and sensibilities that are flexible and based in relationships with human and non-human others. The concept of common notions has been elaborated by Gilles Deleuze and by a current of contemporary radical intellectuals in Spain and Argentina, including Sebastián Touza, whom we interviewed for this book.[97] Touza's work explains that we might experience joy-a growth in our powers-as a sudden flash, but be unsure what made it possible or how to support more joyful encounters and relations. This is the passive experience of joy. The passage from passivity to activity happens through the formation of common notions: people figuring out together what sustains transformation in their situations, and how to move with it and participate in its unfolding. Common notions can never be a fixed way of doing things or a guarantee that things will go well. They can sound idealistic but in fact they are the opposite: they are pragmatic sensibilities, material conceptions that arise out of embodied, mutually enabling face-to-face relationships. Touza writes,

This is because, in Spinoza's ethics, to have notions in common, people require more than the sole agreement between the rational ideas that come out of their minds. Common notions are formed in the local and concrete terrain of affects that emerge in the encounter between bodies. A common notion is a bond formed by reciprocal affect. Joy enables a leap beyond the world of sad passions.[98]

Common notions are slippery because like joy itself, they emerge from concrete, unique situations. To share them with others whose situations are composed differently, then, is precarious and fraught. Detached from the circumstances and practices that birthed them, common notions can turn into moral commandments or stagnant habits, rather than ways of relating that remain alive through struggle and care.

As common notions, trust and responsibility are emergent values connected to specific practices, movements, and forms of life. A learned trust-in situations, in others, and in one's own capacities-is in this sense an unfolding process. To trust in transformation is to undo fear and control. Similarly, the forms of responsibility we are discussing are not enshrined in law and formal agreements, but emerge instead through a sense of feeling invited to participate in the world, care for others and be cared for, support and be supported.

(Mis)trust and (ir)responsibility under Empire

Working through trust and responsibility is difficult because both of these words have been so thoroughly colonized by Empire. An important place to begin, we think, is with the ways that Empire sows mistrust and destroys our capacity for collective responsibility by making us dependent on its destructive, depleting, violent ways of life.

Many people's impulse is to mistrust others from the start, and it makes sense, given that many of us have been living Hobbes's dream, made real, for centuries. Most everyone we know has been touched by some kind of oppression and abuse, and Empire's oppressive divisions often lead people to betray even their most intimate relations. For instance, feminists have coined the term "gaslighting" to get at a common patriarchal dynamic that undermines the perceptions of women and femmes by second-guessing, explaining away, and denying their experiences and insights. Gaslighting can be subtle and unintentional, but as feminist writer Nora Samaran explains, it is particularly insidious because it undermines people's trust in their own capacities:

If you think of the power, the strength, the capacity to effect change that women who trust themselves are capable of, what we are losing when we doubt ourselves is an indomitable force for social change that is significant and therefore, to some, frightening. In other words, our capacity to know ourselves is immensely powerful.[99]

All forms of oppression seem to have this tendency: racism, heteropatriarchy, ableism, ageism, colonization, and other systems of oppression contort people's insights, experiences and differences into weaknesses or deny them outright. For this reason, the emergence of trust can be a powerful weapon, which is being recovered all the time through struggle.

For many of us, mistrust in ourselves and others started when we were kids, and in a lot of cases in our homes. When they're really young, kids are curious, open, vulnerable, and capable of radically trusting those around them, and this tends to get sucked out of them from many directions by Empire and the kinds of hierarchical and competitive relationships it promotes. One of the most damaging forms of distrust is built into modern disciplinary institutions, and schooling in particular. As organizer and scholar Matt Hern writes,

At school children are always monitored, and schooled parents believe that they should similarly be constantly monitoring their offspring, in the name of safety. The last decades of this century has seen an exponential growth in concern for children's daily safety, particularly in cities, and most parents I come into contact with want to keep a very close eye on their kids. This is a laudable concern, and one I share, yet I have a deep suspicion of the equation that safety = surveillance. There is a threshold where our concerned eye becomes over-monitoring and disabling, an authoritarian presence shaping our kids' lives.[100]

Hern is not singling out certain parents as oppressive, and he implicates himself in this, too. He is pointing to the collective inheritance of a way of life that divorces people from their capacities to trust each other. The model for inculcating these values was (and is) intense discipline and control: kids are encased in concrete for over a decade, trained to sit still, memorize, and obey authority. As the political theorist Toby Rollo has argued, it is no coincidence that colonization, racism, heteropatriarchy, and ableism all tell stories that constitute oppressed and dispossessed people as children.[101] Empire conceives its Others as untrustworthy and lacking maturity, health, morality, knowledge, civilization, and rationality, and so they have all been targets for education, confinement, and control-or for total eradication and genocide.

Empire's radical monopoly over life

Ivan Illich was a prominent radical intellectual in the 1970s, but aside from his radical critique of schooling, is not well-known today. For Illich, modern schooling was only one of the many ways that dependence was being entrenched-a dependence not only on capitalist production and consumption, but on a whole violent, industrialized, disciplined, and controlled way of life. His concept of radical monopoly points to something more systematic than the control over a particular market by a particular firm. Instead, radical monopoly gets at the way that Empire monopolizes life itself: how people relate to each other, how they get around, how they get their sustenance, and the whole texture of everyday life. A world built for cars forces out other ways of moving, and modern building codes and bylaws make it impossible and illegal for people to build their own dwellings, or even to live together at all if they cannot pass as a nuclear family. Modern medicine does not just create a new way of understanding the body: its scientific understanding is premised on a radical monopoly over health, and the subjugation (or commodification) of other healing traditions. To be healthy under Empire is to be a properly functioning, able-bodied, neurotypical individual capable of work, and to be sick often means becoming medicalized: isolated, confined, and dependent on strangers and experts. Law, policing, and prisons monopolize the field of justice by enforcing cycles of punishment and incarceration, forcing out the capacity of people to protect each other and resolve conflicts themselves. The rise of industrial agriculture has been accompanied by a loss of the convivial relations surrounding subsistence: the connection to the growing and processing of food, the intimacy with ecosystems and seasons it entails, and the collective rituals, celebrations, and practices that have accompanied these traditions. Empire's infrastructure induces dependence on forms of production, specialized knowledge, expertise, and tools that detach people from their capacities to learn, grow, build, produce, and take care of each other.

Since Illich wrote, these monopolies have folded into ever more diffuse and generalized forms of control, sunk deeper into the fabric of life. Deleuze called this new form of power taking shape over the course of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries "control societies."[102] Rather than telling people exactly what to do, this mode of power regularizes life, calling forth certain ways of living and feeling, and making other forms of life die. Surveillance no longer ends when one exits a particular institution: through social media, smartphones, browsing histories, and credit cards, surveillance is ubiquitous, continuous, and increasingly participatory. We are enjoined to share, consume, and express ourselves, and every choice feeds back into algorithms that predict our habits and preferences with ever increasing precision. The performance of self-expression is constantly encouraged, and as the Institute for Precarious Consciousness writes, "Our success in this performance in turn affects everything from our ability to access human warmth to our ability to access means of subsistence, not just in the form of the wage but also in the form of credit."[103] Under this apparatus, there is little room for silence, nuance, listening, exploration, or the rich subtleties of tone and body language. Anything too intense or subversive is either incorporated or surgically removed by security, police, or emergency personnel. Class, anti-Blackness, Islamophobia, ableism and other structured forms of violence are coded into the algorithms that make everyone a potential terrorist, thief, or error. Even those who are supposed to enjoy the most-those who can afford the newest screens and the most expensive forms of consumption-are inducted into a state of nearly constant distraction, numbness, and anxiety.

Perpetual individualization obscures the crushing collective effects of Empire. When this form of control is working, interactions are hypervisible, superficial, predictable, and self-managed. To be constantly mistrusted and controlled is also to be detached from one's own capacity to experiment, make mistakes, and learn without instruction or coercion. To internalize the responsibilities of neoliberal individualism is to sink into the mesh of control and subjection. The responsible economic subject owns her own property, pays her own debts, invests in her future, and meets her needs and desires through consumption. She is individually responsible for her health, her economic situation, her life prospects, and even her emotional states. These forms of subjection make it difficult to imagine-let alone participate in-collective alternatives. From the dependence on armed strangers to resolve conflicts, to the hum of an extraction-fuelled world, to the glow of screens that beckon attention, to the stranglehold of policy and bureaucracy, to the intergenerational violence and abuse that permeate lovers and families, Empire is constantly entrenching dependence on a world that makes joy, trust, and responsibility difficult.

It is not a question of revealing this to people, as if they are dupes. Struggling amid these forms of control means grappling with their affective hold on us and our daily lives. Anxiety, addiction, and depression are not merely secrets to reveal or illusions to dispel. Preaching about Empire's horrors can stoke cynicism or ironic detachment rather than undoing subjection. One can still feel bound and depleted, despite one's awareness. Empire's subjects are "free" to be mistrustful and resentful of the system under which they live. One can hate Empire as much as one wants, as long as one continues to work, pay rent, and consume. There is no simple correspondence between intentions and actions, as if the problem is simply figuring out what to do and doing it. Undoing subjection is not about conscious opposition, or finding a way to be happy amidst misery. Challenging Empire's radical monopoly over life means interrupting its affective and infrastructural hold, undoing some of our existing attachments and desires, and creating new ones.

Towards conviviality

Most people who have lived through any moment where formal institutions of power go away, or are forced away, agree with this point. When left alone, when left with one another, people turn to one another and use forms of mutual aid and support. The wake of the break is a beautiful opening up of possibility."

-Marina Sitrin[104]

At Empire's edges, in its cracks, people are finding each other, recovering subjugated knowledges, revaluing their own traditions, pushing back against discipline and control. In dramatic uprisings and slow shifts, people are reconnecting with their own powers and capacities to make, act, live, and fight together. Conviviality is the name that Illich gives to ways of life that promote flourishing, which are being squeezed out by Empire:

I choose the term "conviviality" to designate the opposite of industrial productivity. I intend it to mean autonomous and creative intercourse among persons, and the intercourse of persons with their environment; and this in contrast with the conditioned response of persons to the demands made upon them by others and by a man-made environment. I consider conviviality to be individual freedom realized in personal interdependence and, as such, an intrinsic ethical value.[105]

Illich's conception of conviviality resonates with the relational form of freedom we explored in the last chapter. Conviviality names the creative relationships that emerge between people and their material surroundings, sustained by grassroots trust and responsibility.[106] In other words, it is Illich's name for joy sustained by common notions. Conviviality helps clarify that joy is not simply something felt by an individual, but the effect of enabling assemblages of bodies, tools, gestures, and relationships. It is not about a utopian future or a romantic past, but about breaking from dependence on Empire's stifling infrastructures. This is most evident after natural disasters and during insurrections, when some of Empire's radical monopolies are dramatically short-circuited.

While these situations often trigger elite fear-mongering and fascist vigilantism, they are also spaces where joyful and convivial forms of life blossom, as people discover-in haphazard, decentralized, and emergent ways-how to live without Empire's crushing monopolies. Here is what one anonymous participant had to say about their experience of the uprising in Cairo, Egypt, where people famously took over Tahrir Square:

Cairo was never more alive than during the first Tahrir Square. Since nothing was functioning anymore, everyone took care of what was around them. People took charge of the garbage collecting, swept the walkways and sometimes even repainted them; they drew frescos on the walls and they looked after each other. Even the traffic had become miraculously fluid, since there were no more traffic controllers. What we suddenly realized is that we had been robbed of our simplest gestures, those that make the city ours and make it something we belong to. At Tahrir Square, people would arrive and spontaneously ask themselves what they could do to help. They would go to the kitchen, or to stretcher the wounded, work on banners or shields or slingshots, join discussions, make up songs. We realized that the state organization was actually the maximum disorganization, because it depended on negating the human ability to self-organize. At Tahrir, no one gave any orders. Obviously, if someone had got it in their heads to organize all that, it would have immediately turned into chaos.[107]

Similar accounts can be found by people who have lived through disasters and insurrections throughout the world. For example, the upwelling of autonomy, experimentation, and joy was palpable in the Argentinean uprising that began in 2001. While corporate media and politicians framed it as a chaotic, short-lived riot, Marina Sitrin has shown how autonomous forms of life have endured, despite challenges, for over a decade.[108] Workers have taken over factories and learned to run them collectively, without bosses, through a process of autogestion, or worker self-management. This is not merely a transition from top-down factory production to cooperative production, but a process of transformative struggle in which whole neighborhoods defended factories against police and capitalists. Similarly, the neighborhood assemblies that formed through the uprising have created new ways for people to resolve conflicts and support each other without relying on the state.

Anywhere that Empire's form of life is suspended, emergent capacities to live otherwise rush in. Through struggle and experimentation, people formulate problems and respond to them together, taking responsibility for collective work and care, and bonds of trust take hold.

Rebecca Solnit speaks to the emergence of conviviality and joy amid disasters in her book A Paradise Built in Hell:

In the wake of an earthquake, a bombing, or a major storm, most people are altruistic, urgently engaged in caring for themselves and those around them, strangers and neighbors as well as friends and loved ones. The image of the selfish, panicky, or regressive savage human being has little truth to it.[109]

Solnit documents and interviews the survivors of several disasters, including earthquakes and hurricanes, economic collapses, and terrorist attacks. Consistently she finds that in the wake of disaster it is mainly elites who panic and resort to violence. Furthermore, bureaucratic disaster relief tends to entrench misery and despair. At the same time, in the midst of intense suffering and pain, large numbers of people engage in mutual aid and solidarity. In fact, many people reflect on their experiences of earthquakes, hurricanes, and even bombings as joyful experiences in the Spinozan sense, in which they feel more alive and connected to others. Without top-down organization or bureaucracies, they coordinate food and medical supplies, take care of injured and sick people, and defend themselves in ways that are decentralized but not disorganized.

The upwelling of conviviality and joyful forms of life is only one tendency among others in situations where control is abated. Alongside these are other tendencies: waves of sexualized violence, hoarding, bunkerism, fascist vigilantes, intimidation and violence from military and police, and desires for control based in fear and mistrust. To reinstall its rhythms, Empire must turn these moments into situations of extreme deprivation and violence so that its subjects can only experience the suspension of control as a horrifying prospect. The bubbling up of decentralized, convivial forms of life must be crushed as quickly as possible and "order" must be restored. In this sense, Empire's means of counterinsurgency include not only police repression but also the liquidation of emergent orders, the stoking of divisions and terror, and the reinstallation of individualizing and isolating forms of life. People go back to their jobs, their houses, their smartphones, and control returns.

But never completely. A key question is how to keep these relations alive in everyday life, even as Empire's stultifying rhythms are reimposed. Among the stakes in these struggles, as we have suggested, is their potential to elicit responsiveness as people are drawn out of themselves and their routines. In an interview with Naomi Klein, Leanne Simpson insists that responsibility and reciprocity are the alternatives to settler colonial extractivism:

Naomi: If extractivism is a mindset, a way of looking at the world, what is the alternative?

Leanne: Responsibility. Because I think when people extract things, they're taking and they're running and they're using it for just their own good. What's missing is the responsibility. If you're not developing relationships with the people, you're not giving back, you're not sticking around to see the impact of the extraction. You're moving to someplace else. The alternative is deep reciprocity. It's respect, it's relationship, it's responsibility, and it's local. If you're forced to stay in your 50-mile radius, then you very much are going to experience the impacts of extractivist behavior. The only way you can shield yourself from that is when you get your food from around the world or from someplace else. So the more distance and the more globalization then the more shielded I am from the negative impacts of extractivist behavior.[111]

To be more responsible and self-reliant in this way is not to inhabit the neoliberal ideal of the individual, nor an isolationist independence. Protecting ecosystems and non-human life from devastation is often cast in terms of conservation, austerity, or a new mode of management. But these tendencies exist in tension with the grassroots recovery and reinvention of ways of living that support human and non-human life, through ongoing and intimate contact with natural processes. This is not about protecting a separate "environment" but nurturing forms of life that persist through interdependent relationships: soil, water, plants, and animals are not resources to be exploited or managed, but an interconnected web that people can participate in and enrich. As people regain intimate contact with the places where they live, they get to know the way the water flows when it rains, the plants that grow up together and how they are used by birds and wasps and bees, the way that the sun warms a south-facing slope where different plants thrive.

This brings abstract concepts like climate change and biodiversity loss down to a practical scale, felt through interactions with the sensible world rather than intellectualized through statistics. Supporting these relationships might entail intense grief and rage: one discovers that a childhood hideout among trees has been paved over; the absence of once-familiar birds and bees is felt; one finds cancerous fish and dried-up creeks. There are overwhelming and heartbreaking changes taking place, and being connected to communities of plants and animals makes it as painful as it is nourishing. It is from this place that joyful responses to ecological catastrophes are emerging. Not happy or optimistic responses, but capacities to respond to the horrors in ways based in lived and ever-changing relationships.

Emergent trust and responsibility: three examples

Indigenous struggles

In North America, the recovery of responsibility and interconnectedness is expressed most deeply and forcefully in Indigenous resurgence and other struggles where people are reasserting a profound land-based knowledge, revaluing traditions that have accrued through generations of reciprocal relationships with land. It is no coincidence that Indigenous peoples have been behind the most durable and militant resistance to ecological devastation, including pipelines, dams, logging, tar sands, fracking, and other forms of resource extraction. To be immersed in a web of reciprocal relationships is also to feel the responsibility to protect that web.

The Unist'ot'en Camp, for instance, is an Indigenous-led project that for years has been successfully resisting proposed fracked gas pipelines that would cross the territories of the Wet'suwet'en people in British Columbia. The grassroots Wet'suwet'en people leading the project have been clear that they are not protesting pipelines but reasserting their traditional responsibilities to take care of their territories, and re-establishing traditional protocols for entry. Several years ago, they created a checkpoint and began turning away those working for surveyors and others involved in pipeline construction, while inviting thousands of supporters onto their territories. Mel Bazil, a long-term supporter and a Gitxsan relative of the Unist'ot'en clan, speaks to the power of these land-based responsibilities:

It's a reciprocal culture; it never really ended ... To share that knowledge outwardly to other grassroots folks-migrants and grassroots settlers, as well as other Indigenous nations-it's been very, very powerful to see our people come together. Not just in the face of devastation and destruction, but to survive and to understand each other.[112]

Not only have they been successful in halting pipeline construction; in the process, the Unist'ot'en Camp has constructed permaculture gardens, a healing center, and hosted annual action camps where hundreds of Indigenous and non-Indigenous supporters come from across North America (and elsewhere) to connect with each other, explore affinities, and deepen networks of trust and mutual support.

Similar processes are taking place at other camps across territories claimed by British Columbia and beyond, including the Madii Lii Camp and Lax Kw'alaams's defense of Lelu Island, both part of a network of frontlines committed to stopping pipelines and fracked gas expansion. Furthermore, as we write this, there is a local and worldwide proliferation of solidarity actions, fundraisers, and on-the-ground support for the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe's resistance to the Dakota Access Pipeline.

Among non-Indigenous people, we also see expressions of land-connected responsibilities in the spread of communal gardening, environmental and climate justice, permaculture, regenerative farming, grassroots bioremediation, resistance to resource extraction, and animal liberation struggles, among others. Many of these struggles are simultaneously fighting the ecological devastation of Empire and its brutal forms of control and exploitation while making space for convivial forms of life.

Anti-violence and transformative justice

This renewal of collective responsibility and trust can also be seen in feminist, anti-violence, and transformative justice movements that address interpersonal violence in ways that undo the monopoly of policing and courts. A crucial insight from these movements is that listening to, believing, and trusting survivors of violence is powerful, undermining a culture that normalizes violence and blames survivors of rape and abuse for the ways they have been hurt. The capacity of survivors to trust themselves and each other is often the beginning of community-based responses through which people take collective responsibility for confronting and transforming patterns of violence.

The work of these movements has led to a proliferation of networks of mutual support and care, and the creation of alternatives to police, courts, and prisons that exacerbate violence and oppression. In North America, these initiatives have been led by BIPOC women, Two-Spirit, queer, and trans people, in particular, whose communities have been targeted with criminalization and incarceration since the inception of policing and prisons. As INCITE! and Critical Resistance organizers write,

The reliance on the criminal justice system has taken power away from women's ability to organize collectively to stop violence and has invested this power within the state. The result is that women who seek redress in the criminal justice system feel disempowered and alienated. It has also promoted an individualistic approach toward ending violence such that the only way people think they can intervene in stopping violence is to call the police. This reliance has shifted our focus from developing ways communities can collectively respond to violence.[113]

In this context, "transformative justice" (TJ) has emerged as an alternative to "restorative justice" models. Its emphasis on transformation is based on the insight that-especially among Black and Indigenous communities-violence is structural and institutional, without a baseline that could be "restored." Instead, as lawyer and anti-violence organizer Rachel Zellars explains, it works pragmatically from existing relationships to interrupt institutional and interpersonal cycles of violence, disposability, and punishment:

[Transformative justice] centres Black women's experiences of violence while resisting the notion that speaking about violence detracts from organizing: men who cause harm can be understood simultaneously as effective or well-loved organizers and as perpetrators of misogynistic violence. In this sense, TJ is open-armed - naming violence committed while leaving room for those who have caused harm to be accountable and to come back into the fold."[114]

Transformative justice and anti-violence are also linked to struggles for migrant justice, anti-gentrification, and prison abolition. In Halifax, Nova Scotia, women refugees created an informal support group and drop-in center for those in their community facing domestic abuse, which led to a cooperative catering business and a childcare network that helped address the poverty and isolation that was recreating the conditions for violence.[115] In 2004 anti-violence advocate Mimi Kim founded Creative Interventions, an organization dedicated to sharing grassroots responses to interpersonal violence and lessons from these attempts.[116] Forged in alliance and conversation with prison abolitionist movements, they encourage reliance on friends, family, neighbors, and coworkers as alternatives to professional services or policing. Their flexible approach acknowledges that people may want to remain in their relationships or the places where they live, centering the needs of survivors while working towards the transformation of the situation that led to the violence.

By enacting alternatives to cops and courts, these initiatives nurture autonomy in place of racist, heteropatriarchal institutions, undoing the culture in which both survivors and perpetrators are made disposable and institutional violence is obscured. Everyone we know who is involved in these efforts to end cycles of violence can attest to how fraught, messy, and difficult they can be. They do not always go well. Nonetheless, this is the kind of "freedom" discussed in the last chapter: the capacity to work on relationships, to become more active in undoing oppressive patterns, and to nurture and deepen trust and collective responsibility.

Deschooling and youth liberation

A third convivial current is deschooling and youth liberation, and the proliferation of alternatives to schooling that are led by kids and youth, including those who are in school. The Purple Thistle, co-created with youth in Vancouver, Canada, has been a vibrant example of this: it nurtured a space for youth not only to hang out, but to experiment and learn together without being controlled and supervised, to take collective responsibility for running the space, and to build strong bonds with each other.

The youth-run projects included a community garden, screenprinting, photography, graffiti, zine publishing, discussion groups, filmmaking, animation, film nights, a radical library, sound and music recording, graphic design, fiber and textile arts, and more. These initiatives were emergent, based on people's desires and priorities. carla was the "director" of the Thistle from 2009 until it closed in spring 2015, but her job was basically to do the bulk of the paper work, support and mentor when asked, and to work as kind of matchmaker connecting youth to mentors and apprenticeships both formal and informal. Overall, carla's role as director was to function as an anchor to support the fluid and flexible relationships at the heart of the Thistle. Other adults also supported the Thistle as anchors, co-directors, and mentors, but all day-to-day decisions were made by the youth-run collective and the various pods that sprang from it. As Matt Hern, Thistle co-founder and director before carla, said of the project,

I like to think of the Thistle as being really easy in the way that school is hard and really hard in the way that school is easy. So, you go to school for example, or you go to a workplace, or you go to many institutions, you know exactly what you have to do, you know what's expected of you, you don't really have to think a whole lot. And that's nice sometimes; you just walk through it: essentially just follow orders and do what you're told and you'll be fine. So it's really easy in lots of ways. It's also very difficult because that's really hard for most people, and because you fight against it and you resist, but the Thistle turns that on its ass in lots of ways. So it's really easy because no one is telling you what to do, you can do whatever you like, you can come and go as you like, you can figure out how you can access it. So it's very easy but it's also very difficult, 'cause that's a tremendous kind of responsibility.[117]

The Thistle can be understood as a counter-institution, a flexible container where the participants themselves shaped roles and responsibilities in an open, experimental way. Such counter-institutions can prefigure trust and conviviality, creating space where these ways of relating can be tried out, become patterns and habits, and eventually take hold in new communities and projects.

Many of these relationships ran outside the walls of the Thistle, but were nevertheless vital for creating webs of care and mutual aid. For example, when individuals or groups found themselves in dicey or difficult situations, folks could lean on each other rather than call the cops. Often this meant supporting someone to get the care they actually needed instead of being thrown into the criminal system. Other times it meant creating space for accountability to take hold. These forms of trust and responsibility never crystallized into a public website, handbook, or formal organization; they were relational and ad hoc. We think that people are doing this all the time. In fact, in order to keep it safer for many to engage in these ways, and to hold onto these values as common notions, institutionalization or publicity is often avoided.

The power of baseline trust

I think we cannot have any kind of trust in a mass of 100 million individuals, they will produce the horror. But if we bring everything to the human scale, to the communities, to small groups of people, then we can really trust that the people will have the wisdom to discuss and to generate consensus.

-Gustavo Esteva[118]

We have argued that Empire's institutions are a ceaseless attack on conviviality, and we want to hold onto emergent forms of trust and responsibility as common notions. In this context, we want to share an excerpt from our interview with Kelsey Cham C.:

carla and Nick: Can you talk about the potential of trusting folks up front, and how you saw it play out at the Thistle?

Kelsey: Yeah totally, I think that's awesome. Actually I think you [carla] were one of the first people to actually trust me without even knowing me. And I was like what the hell? Why? Why? How do you know I'm not gonna just fuck everything up and run away and steal a bunch of money and go? How do you know that? But in trusting me, I was like, holy shit: I trust this situation and this collective twenty times more and I want to give back to it because I've been given this opportunity to do something that I've never been able to do before, which is awesome. But I have been thinking about trust and how with trauma we build all these walls and we start to mistrust everything-I have a pretty hard time trusting people-there's a point where I'm like this is too personal and too intimate and now my walls are going to go up. I was sitting and thinking about how it's probably one of the best ways to break down the walls of the system is to break down the walls around each other first, and I think the only way we can break down those walls is with trust. And that's the core thing you said.

Joyful militancy and trust, and compassion, and humility are all tied together: in other cultures, traditional cultures-I don't know a lot about this-but from what I know, older Indigenous cultures have these ideas of respect, humility, compassion, and I think in karate I've seen it and it's funny because karate is a martial art, a fighting tool, and one of the things that we learn is that we have to love everyone including our opponents. And that's the toughest thing to say in this community. People are like, "what the fuck, how can you say that, you can't just love your abuser." And it's true, I can't just let go of everything. It's not that, it's being compassionate, I think, to situations.

carla and Nick: Can we have the expectation of trust up front? Is it an alternative to the idea that trust always needs to be earned?

Kelsey: Yeah that's like our society: you gotta earn everything; you earn money, you build trust, and respect. You gotta prove to me that I should trust you, or respect you. And that's an interesting point; I have a tough time with that, trusting people. But I think it's a feedback system: probably the more you allow yourself to trust people initially, probably the more well-reciprocated that will be. I felt it: you trust me and I didn't understand it. That's how fucked up our system is. Even though I didn't do anything wrong, or to harm you, I didn't understand how someone could trust me without knowing me first.[119]

At the core of this conversation is the potential-never an obligation or guarantee-of trusting people up front. In a practical sense, it's our experience that when people offer trust up front, most people rise to the occasion. Without turning it into a commandment that everyone should follow, we want to affirm the ways that expanding up-front trust can be transformative and enabling. It can feel strange and scary to be in situations where people think well of us and trust us to do our best, without having to "earn it" or "prove it," but it also can be incredibly freeing, making us feel more capable. This is a trust not only in individuals, but in unfolding processes with open-ended potential, without fixed rules. In this sense, it is trust in joy: in emergent capacities to increase collective powers of acting.

But what does this look like? It happens in all kinds of subtle, relational ways. One of the things that made the Thistle different from many other youth projects was that everyone in the collective had keys to the space and were free to use them anytime. No one had to go through a formal interview process, or sign over their life to have a set. Many bureaucratic procedures like this are based in distrust, as are many radical spaces that replicate institutional norms of Empire. But this up-front trust also entailed responsibility: it required that folks met regularly to check in, talk about how things were going, and so on. These practices helped to create an environment of shared connection and kindness, a space filled with friendship and mutual support, and ultimately a place to build community.

When we have been involved in movements, spaces, and forms of life imbued with this sense of trust, along with a fierce sense of mutual responsibility, we have noticed that it gave us an ability to be brave, to try new things, to be vulnerable, and to take risks. This is not a politics of "let's all get along" pacifism. Writing in the context of collective resistance to evictions in the United States, Sitrin argues that trust is intimately connected to direct action:

It is not only about changing relationships and "feeling good" but inextricably linked to direct action. It is about creating the alternatives that we now desire and need. It is using the base of trust so as to occupy homes and prevent foreclosures and evictions, all the while knowing that to call on one's neighbor means they will come out and support you-as has been done many hundreds of times throughout the US in only the past few months. People doing eviction defense in support of their neighbors even speak of how they might not have "liked" that particular person, but that they "felt" a connection to them and cared so much about what happened to them that they were risking possible arrest by putting their bodies between the marshals and the person's home. From these relationships, in dozens and dozens of neighborhoods and communities across the country, networks of support and care have been formed. Neighbors go door-to-door to let others know that they can (and will) be defended if they need it, and also to just share stories, food, and support.[120]

These conceptions of care, trust, and openness are not new ideas. On the contrary, Gustavo Esteva and Madhu Prakash argue that what they call hospitality -a radical openness, generosity, and trust in others-is common among many traditions that have not been lost to bureaucratic institutions, industrial dependence, and other trappings of "development." Among those less entangled in Empire's radical monopolies, hospitality remains alive:

Common people learn to trust each other and be trustworthy in ways that are rapidly vanishing among the "social minorities." Their common faith is seldom deposited in abstract causes or phantoms, like human kind. Instead, it is entrusted to real men and women, defining the place to which they belong and that belongs to them. Rather than the private hope and public despair of the "social minorities" (some hope for their personal lives, no hope for public affairs) ...we usually find expressed among them a common hope in their own capacity to deal with their predicaments, whether good, bad or indifferent. Given that condition, they can be both hospitable and responsible.[121]

The notion of hospitality is not just about welcoming guests; it connotes a sensibility of trust based on people's sense of their capacity to face the world together. Being held in this way also enables people to be open to strangers: not simply "tolerant" but capable of open-ended encounters, generosity, and curiosity. To encounter a stranger and be open to difference in this way is not at all the same as tolerance. Liberal tolerance treats individuals as atomized entities who are required to put up with each other, with the state as a universal arbiter. Hospitality starts not from rights-bearing individuals but from a sensuous and lively world, composed through common notions that have evolved to sustain joy or conviviality. To be "hosted" is to be allowed to encounter a world, to be invited into it. For the same reason, it is not individuals who are trusting; there is no self-enclosed individual who "chooses" to trust, but bundles of relationships in which the capacity for trust is activated and drawn out of people.

This is not a romanticization of "premodern" or "preindustrial" cultures, but a recognition that Empire's radical monopolies are uneven and contested. Esteva and Prakash insist that people are always recovering, sustaining, and reinventing convivial forms of life. This can be seen in insurrectionary spaces, in disasters, in a whole multiplicity of projects and struggles: anywhere that people find the capacity to formulate problems together and carve out some wiggle room from Empire's monopoly over life.

Infinite trust and responsibilities?

Trust and responsibility are composed differently based in the contexts from which they emerge. They can be conceived as a set of questions, including the capacity to selectively extend trust across the divisions of race, class, sex, gender, colonization, ability, age, and other forms of oppression and division.

There are good reasons why trust may be difficult. Distrust is often based on experiences of abuse, violation, or being used or taken advantage of. A lot of women, genderqueer, and trans folks don't trust cis-gendered men; people of color are often wary of white people, and Indigenous people refuse to trust settlers. These are not ideological prejudices, but strategies of survival.

Moreover, to talk about trust and responsibility can sound naïve or just plain stupid in a world in which individual responsibility is callously imposed and so much violence happens to trusting people. At the same time, we want to recognize that people are constantly building trust across these divisions, in ways that open potentials for new relationships. In this sense, a crucial component of joyful militancy is a collective capacity to build, maintain, and repair trust, which may entail taking responsibility for harm, disrespect, or complicity with Empire in ways that we may not have anticipated. Richard Day suggests that many anti-authoritarian currents today are animated by what he calls "infinite responsibility":

This means that as individuals, as groups, we can never allow ourselves to think that we are "done", that we have identified all of the sites, structures, and processes of oppression "out there" or "in here", inside our own individual and group identities. Infinite responsibility means always being ready to hear another other, a subject who by definition does not "exist", indeed must not exist (be heard) if current relations of power are to be maintained.[122]

In this sense, the questions of what we are responsible for, whom we are responsible to, and what we can be held accountable for are always open, ethical questions. This does not mean that they will be completely revised at any second, but that they are never completely fixed, held open by an ethical responsiveness. Responsibility is infinite in the sense that it is unbounded: we can harm each other in unforeseen ways, and infinite responsibility gestures at the potential of remaining responsive to this. As a way of furthering this line of thought, responsibility could be broken apart into response-ability. Writer and facilitator Zainab Amadahy writes,

Responsibility in this sense is not a burden but something that actually enhances our life experience. The word literally means "ability to respond." In the relational framework we might understand responsibility as the ability to respond appropriately - that is, for the common good. In this sense, responsibility is seen as preferable to individualism, which doesn't really exist.[123]

This "common good" is not an abstract good based in Western morality. For Amadahy, it is based in attunement to human and non-human relationships and the capacity to support them. Following this line, responsibility is ethical rather than moral. As soon as answers to these questions become permanent, the ethical moment is gone, and one cannot be responsive to relationships in motion.

Like all common notions, trust and responsibility are not guarantees that things will go well, or that oppression and violence will not happen. Trust, hospitality, and openness are precious and important precisely because they entail incredible courage and risk, especially in the context of Empire, with its many layers of violence and control. For this reason, Esteva and Prakash write that "nothing is more treacherous than that which violates hospitality."[124] To be open and vulnerable entails the risk of being hurt and betrayed in ways that we cannot be if we are on guard or closed-off. Pointing to the need for openness is not an injunction to remain open to everything. Instead, it is another open-ended ethical question about where, when, with whom, and how to be open and trusting.

Holding common notions gently

Trust and responsibility are slippery for a number of reasons. They are not simply the result of rational thinking, or even a combination of theory and practice, because they are implicated in affect: they come out of thinking and feeling the transformative encounters with our own power and the powers of others.

This is part of why it is so important to hold onto trust and responsibility as common notions rather than prescriptions. Common notions emerge from the upwellings of joy that make them possible, as people (re)learn together how to nurture convivial forms of life. To turn trust into an imperative is to rob it of this potential. Still, even among the people who generated them, common notions can be converted into rigid doctrines that drain away joyful transformation, rather than supporting it. This happens when certainty arises about the only way forward; when "trust me" and "take responsibility" become injunctions. This turns them into dead words, lifted from the tangle of transformative movement that brought them into being. Common notions can only be held gently, as flexible ideas whose power lives within the relationships and processes they sustain.

The slippage from common notions to set principles is all too common among radical movements and milieus, especially in North America. We think this slippage is connected to the phenomenon of rigid radicalism that we discussed in our introduction and explore more deeply in the next chapter.

Chapter 4: Stifling Air, Burnout, Political Performance

Capitalism, colonialism and heteropatriarchy make us sick. Are our responses healing us? Are our actions generating wellbeing for others? Or are we unintentionally reproducing the kind of relationships that made us sick in the first place?

-Zainab Amadahy[125]

Puritanism, in whatever expression, is a poisonous germ. On the surface everything may look strong and vigorous; yet the poison works its way persistently, until the entire fabric is doomed.

-Emma Goldman[126]

Toxic contours

There is something that circulates in many radical spaces, movements, and milieus that saps their power from within. It is the pleasure of feeling more radical than others and the worry about not being radical enough; the sad comfort of sorting unfolding events into dead categories; the vigilant apprehension of errors and complicities in oneself and others; the anxious posturing on social media with the highs of being liked and the lows of being ignored; the suspicion and resentment felt in the presence of something new; the way curiosity feels naïve and condescension feels right. We can sense its emergence at certain times, when we feel the need to perform in certain ways, hate the right things, and make the right gestures. Above all, it is hostile to difference, curiosity, openness, and experimentation.

This phenomenon cannot be exhaustively described, because it is always mutating and recirculating. The problem is not simply that people are unaware of it-we think it is common among those touched by radical milieus. As the anarchist researcher and organizer Chris Dixon writes,

Whenever this topic comes up in discussions, I've found it quickly evokes head nods and horror stories about takedowns on social media, organizational territorialism, activist social status hierarchies, sectarian posturing, and a general atmosphere of radical self-righteousness.[127]

It can be risky to discuss all this publicly; there is always the chance that one will be cast as a liberal, an oppressor, or a reactionary. For this reason, these conversations are happening between people who already trust each other enough to know that they will not be met with immediate suspicion or attack. Here there is room for questioning and listening, with space for subtlety, nuance, and care that is so often absent when rigid radicalism takes hold. These are some of the questions we have been asking in our research: What is this force? What are its contours, and what are its sources? What triggers it, and what makes it spread? How can it be warded off, and how are people activating other ways of being?

This is probably our bleakest chapter, focusing as it does on the contours of rigid radicalism and how it circulates. We want to offer up some ideas about how this all works, but we are not trying to pin it down once and for all. We have been reading about this phenomenon, talking with friends, and interviewing people, and so we hope to contribute to a conversation that we know is ongoing. We want to tell stories about it, not the story. We do not think there is any single cause, or a single response.

In our first attempts at writing about this, and in many of our interviews, we used the concept of "sad militancy" to describe this phenomenon, but we have abandoned the term because it has not worked for some people we talked to. Drawing on Spinoza's conception of sadness as stagnation, the notion of sad militancy has been circulating for a while, especially in Latin America. Nevertheless, we have noticed that it can easily be interpreted instead as a pathologization or condemnation of depression or sorrow. Furthermore we use the word "radicalism" because we want to avoid creating a dichotomy between two types of militancy. Rigid radicalism is not the "opposite" of joyful militancy; they are two different processes, animated by distinct affects.

It is a bit scary to write about these tendencies. Throughout the process of writing this book, we have come up against the worry that it will be decided we got it wrong: that we are reactionaries, or liberals, or oppressive in some way that we had not anticipated. Someone will reveal that we do not have "good politics," that the book is too theoretical, or not theoretical enough, or romantic, or full of hippy shit, or naïve, or misleading, or problematic, or liberal, or useless, or, or, or. We will have committed our ridiculous ideas to print, in a permanent humiliation. For us, this fear exposes the durability of rigid radicalism, and how it can trigger paranoia, impose self-censorship and conformity, and encourage a kind of detached self-righteousness.

It's those people

These conversations are already happening frequently. Rigid radicalism is a public secret: something that people already sense but which nonetheless maintains its affective hold.[128] It structures desires and movements in disempowering ways despite our awareness, and keeps us stuck in loops of anxiety, fear, suspicion, and certainty. As such, it cannot be attacked head-on.

Like joyful militancy, rigid radicalism cannot be reduced to certain people or behaviors. It is not that there are a bunch of assholes out there stifling movements and imploding worlds. In fact, this vigilant search for flawed people or behaviors-and the exposure of them everywhere-can be part of rigid radicalism itself. As a public secret, there is no point in shouting about it. It is more like a gas: continually circulating, working on us behind our backs, and guiding us towards rigidities, closures, and hostility.

No one is immune to it, just as no one is immune to being pulled into liberalism and other patterns of Empire. The air makes us cough certainties: some feel provoked, and attack or shrink away; others push cough medicine; but none of this stops anyone from getting sicker. For us at least, there is no cure, no gas mask, no unitary solution. There are only openings, searches, and the collective discovery of new and old ways of moving that let in fresh air. And for the same reason that no one is immune, anyone can participate in its undoing.

To confront rigid radicalism effectively, we think, is not to pin it down and attack it, but to understand it so that we can learn to dissipate it. Because these tendencies are linked to fear, anxiety, shame-to our very desires and sense of who we are and what we are becoming-we think it is important to approach all of this with care and compassion. It also requires recognizing and making the other tendencies palpable: rigid radicalism is always already coming apart, and joy is always already emerging. Ultimately, we think that rigidity is undone by activating, stoking, and intensifying joy, and defending it with militancy and gentleness; in other words, figuring out how to transform our own situations, treat each other well, listen to each other, experiment, and fight together.

The paradigm of government

Where does rigid radicalism come from? Surely there are a multiplicity of sources. Ultimately, we think it is an inheritance of Empire. It has been suggested to us that rigid radicalism is primarily a Euro-colonial phenomenon: that is, it is most intense in spaces where whiteness, heteropatriarchy, and colonization have the strongest hold.[129] These divisions induce habits of relating based in crisis and lack, as capitalism constantly pits people and groups in competition with each other. But rigid radicalism does not exactly mimic Empire; it emerges as a reaction to it, as an aspiration to be purely against it. When we spoke to adrienne maree brown, she suggested that it is an outgrowth of terror and violence:

Nick and carla: What sustains it?

brown: The culture that there is only one way to be radical in the world, one way to create change.

Nick and carla: What provokes or inspires it? What makes it spread?

brown: Terror. We are dying out here. So much destruction is in motion. I think there is a feeling of urgency, that we need discipline and rigor to meet this massive threat to our existence-racism, capitalism, climate, all of it. It feels like we need to be an army.[130]

Empire's destruction in motion can trigger desires for control and militarized discipline. It can lead to a monolithic notion of the right way to be radical, hostile, and suspicious towards other ways of being. It forces out the messiness of relationships and everyday life in favor of clear lines between good/bad and radical/reactionary. In this sense, rigid radicalism imports Empire's tendencies of fixing, governing, disciplining, and controlling, while presenting these as a means of liberation or revolution. In this sense, many radical movements in the West (and elsewhere) have been entangled in what Spanish intellectual Amador Fernández-Savater has called the paradigm of government:

In the paradigm of government, being a militant implies always being angry with what happens, because it is not what should happen; always chastising others, because they are not aware of what they should be aware of; always frustrated, because what exists is lacking in this or that; always anxious, because the real is permanently headed in the wrong direction and you have to subdue it, direct it, straighten it. All of this implies not enjoying, never letting yourself be carried away by the situation, not trusting in the forces of the world.[131]

This is why I don't believe in the concept of "self-sacrifice," where self-sacrifice means that we do things that go against our needs, our desires, our potentials, and for the sake of political work we have to repress ourselves. This has been a common practice in political movements in the past. But it is one that produces constantly dissatisfied individuals.[132]

Because rigid radicalism induces a sense of duty and obligation everywhere, there is a constant sense that one is never doing enough. In this context, "burnout" in radical spaces is not just about being worn out by hard work; it is often code for being wounded, depleted, and frayed: "I'm fucking burning." What depletes us is not just long hours, but the tendencies of shame, anxiety, mistrust, competition, and perfectionism. It is the way in which these tendencies stifle joy: they prevent the capacity for collective creativity, experimentation, and transformation. Often, saying one is burnt out is the safest way to disappear, to take a break, to take care of oneself and get away from these dynamics.

Decline and counterrevolution

Rigid radicalism often arises as a reaction to a decline of transformative and enabling movements. Empire, for its part, responds to resurgent movements and uprisings by deploying ever more sophisticated forms of repression and control. Surveillance, criminalization, and imprisonment are used to destroy people's capacity to organize. Waves of austerity and accumulation lead to more debt, higher costs of living, and economic scarcity. Pacification through the NGO-industrial complex helps to capture and domesticate movements so that they can be managed and organizing can be professionalized. This is always at least partially effective: parts of movements get destroyed, co-opted, subdued, and divided. In the process, what was once a transformative practice can become a stagnant ritual, emptied of its power. Sebastian Touza gives an example from his experience in the student movement in Argentina:

I think shifts toward joy often happen when people organize to do things in novel ways because there is a new opportunity to organize or because the old ways no longer work. I became a member of the student movement at my university at the end of the last dictatorship in Argentina in 1983. I remember the first years of consolidation of the democratic institutions as a period in which experimentation was alive. The people of my generation had no idea what a political party was like (after eight years of dictatorship during which parties were prohibited). Militants were willing to revise everything, were open to listen to all sorts of ideas about how to organize. Today, as a professor, two or three generations of student militants later, I see the students at the university where I work too convinced that doing things the way they do them is the only possible way. All ideas about politics as experimentation have been lost in the student movement, if we can call a movement a collection of people who rarely think outside their respective party lines. Joy has to do with a capacity for new encounters, to a disposition to new affects and ideas, with desiring differently, with setting into question the reproduction of things as they are. Sadness, on the contrary, has to do with fear of leaving the safety of a routine which let many survive, but very few or nobody at all to really live and enjoy what they do.[133]

In times of decline there is a tendency for movements to turn inward or fixate on old strategies or received ways of doing things. Curiosity calcifies into certainty, closing off the capacity for experimentation along with its transformative potential.

The perils of comparing

Rigid radicalism can also take hold through comparing one's own situation with other times and places. From a certain perspective, it can be depressing to hear about places where the social fabric is much stronger, where there are deep traditions of mutual aid, or where struggles against Empire are visible, widespread, and intense. It can activate a feeling that people around us are too flawed, too complacent, or that our own worlds are lacking something: that they are not insurrectionary enough, not big enough, not militant enough, not caring enough. Change can feel out of reach across an unbridgeable chasm. This can lead to cynicism and pessimism, and a detached certainty that the here and now is not a place of joy and transformation: revolts might be widespread elsewhere, but everything is fucked here; people are passive, and there is no real struggle going on.

Alternatively, the chasm can lead to a desire to cultivate only one's own garden, or retreat into little cliques and milieus, where there is a semblance of safety, security, and predictability: everything around us is corrupt, but we can live out our beautiful ideals in our own little world. This is the creation of alternatives in isolation, rather than through combat that connects to other movements and forms of life.

It can also lead to the endless refinement of a militant ideology that provides certainty to its adherents, continually reinforced by the perceived failures of those who do things differently: if they only understood, in the way that we do, things would be different. These cynical, escapist, or ideological responses to Empire are completely understandable. We feel this way often. We have noticed that it happens, in particular, when we anxiously evaluate our own lives or situations in relation to others, against a universal standard of radicalness.

Having good politics

But enough! Enough! I can't endure it any more. Bad air! Bad air! This workshop where man fabricates ideals-it seems to me it stinks from nothing but lies.

-Friedrich Nietzsche[134]

We are encouraged-and we often encourage each other-to wear our politics and analysis like badges, as markers of distinction. When politics becomes something that one has, like fashion, it always needs to be visible in order to function. Actions need to be publicized, positions need to be taken, and our everyday lives need to be spoken loudly to each other. One is encouraged to make calculations about political commitments based on how they will be seen, and by whom. Politics becomes a spectacle to be performed. This reaches its height online, where sharing the right things and speaking the right words tend to be the only ways that people can know each other. Groups need to turn inward and constantly evaluate themselves in relation to these ideals and then project them outward, proclaiming their intentions, values, programs, and missions.

But since one can only have good politics in comparison to someone else that lacks them, rigid radicalism tends towards constant comparison and measuring. Often the best way to avoid humiliation for lacking good politics is to find others lacking in militancy, radicalism, anti-oppression, or some other ideal. One's politics can never quite match these perfectionist ideals, so one is subjected to constant shame and fear.

In this sense, rigid radicalism is not one political current, but a tendency that seeps into many different currents and milieus today. In some milieus, the currency of good politics is a stated (or demonstrated) willingness for direct action, riots, property destruction, and clashes with police. In others, it is the capacity for anti-oppressive analysis, avoidance of oppressive statements, and the calling out of those who make them. In others it is the capacity to avoid work and survive without buying things or paying rent. In some it is adherence to a vision of leftism or revolution, and in others it is the conviction that the Left is dead and revolution is a stupid fantasy. In some it is the capacity to have participated in a lot of projects, or to be connected to a big network of radical organizers. In every case, there is a tendency for one milieu to dismiss the commitments and values of the others and to expose their inadequacies. At its extreme, this generates a form of sectarianism that is fuelled by the very act of being vocally sectarian.

The newcomer is immediately placed in a position of debt: owing dedication, self-sacrifice, and correct analysis that must be continuously proved. Whether it is the performance of anti-oppressive language, revolutionary fervor, nihilist detachment, or an implicit dress code, those who are unfamiliar with the expectations of the milieu are doomed from the start unless they "catch up" and conform. In subtle and overt ways, they will be attacked, mocked, and excluded for getting it wrong, even though these people are often the ones that "good politics" is supposed to support: those without formal education who have not been exposed much to radical milieus, but who have a stake in fighting.

None of this is meant to suggest that we should be more wishy-washy about oppression, or that hard lines are wrong, or that all radical practices are corrupt or bad. Developing analysis, naming mistakes, and engaging in conflict are all indispensable. To undo rigid radicalism is not a call to "get along" or "shut up and take action" or "be spontaneous." People's capacities to challenge and unlearn oppressive behaviors, take direct action, or avoid selling labor and paying rent can create and deepen cracks in Empire. They can all be part of joyful transformation. But any of these practices can also become measuring sticks for comparison and evaluation that end up devaluing other practices and stifling the growth of collective capacities.

When politics circulates in a world dominated by hypervisibility and rigidity, there is a huge swath of things that do not count, and can never count: the incredible things that people do when nobody is looking, the ways that people support and care for each other quietly and without recognition, the hesitations and stammerings that come through the encounter with other ways of living and fighting, all the acts of resistance and sabotage that remain secret, the slow transformations that take years or decades, and all of the ineffable, joyful movements and struggles that can never be fully captured in words or displayed publicly. Rigid radicalism is a barrier to co-learning, listening, and questioning, and to undoing our subjection (our sedimented habits). It blocks the difficult recovery and discovery of responsibility, and the capacity to carve out relationships based in trust and care. The game of good politics makes it much more difficult to be humble, responsive, and creative. No one can have any of this. Joyful common notions can never be possessed; they can only be developed and sustained collectively. They are shared powers that grow in and through transformative relationships and struggles. When held up as a badge of honor or gripped as an identity, they die, detached from the processes and relationships that animate them.

Rigid radicalism stifles joy: it drains out vital energies by enforcing external norms and standards, and by feeding insecurities and anxieties. The greatest tragedy of all is that it does so by converting a lived and changing radicalism into a stifling ideal, like a horizon that is always in view, distant and receding.

These tendencies have led many to abandon radical milieus. This is the narrowing of possibilities induced by rigid radicalism: either continue in a stifling and depleting atmosphere, or leave and attempt to live the form of life that is offered up by Empire. For many, this is not a choice at all because one's very survival is connected to the same spaces where rigid radicalism has taken hold. In this sense, rigid radicalism can be lethal. At the same time, efforts to transform all this are already underway, and many people are initiating conversations about undoing some of these tendencies within the milieus they inhabit. Others are fleeing explicitly radical milieus, creating something new at the margins of both Empire and visibly radical spaces. By breaking off with a crew of friends, some have built quieter alternatives and hubs elsewhere that enable new forms of movement and revive squelched possibilities. There are many ways of letting in fresh air. Rigid radicalism is only one tendency among others, even when it is the dominant one. This is why we have started with-and focused on-joyful militancy in this book.

Chapter 5: Undoing Rigid Radicalism, Activating Joy

How does one keep from being fascist, even (especially) when one believes oneself to be a revolutionary militant? How do we rid our speech and our acts, our hearts and our pleasures, of fascism? How do we ferret out the fascism that is ingrained in our behavior?

-Michel Foucault[135]

Three stories of rigid radicalism

We want to share three stories about some of the origins of rigid radicalism, along with the ways it is constantly being undone through people's capacity for joy and the formulation of common notions. We focus on three overlapping sources: ideology, morality, and paranoid reading.

The story of ideology begins in currents of Marxism-Leninism that have animated movements throughout the twentieth century. But the problem is broader than Leninist vanguardism-it is ideology as such, and the ways that ideological thinking nurtures fixed answers, certainties, and sectarianism. In any movement, ideological rigidity is only one tendency among others, and it is being challenged by currents that are relatively non-ideological. Whether explicit or not, non-ideological ways of moving and relating recover space for experimentation, and they tend to privilege relationships and feeling over dogmatic principles.

A second story begins with Christian morality and its penchants for creating sinners and saints and for inducing guilt and fear. Rigid radicalism is stoked by a moralism that attempts to root out any shred of complicity with Empire, and in the process it often erases complexity and animates self-righteousness. At the same time, people are undoing this in a multiplicity of ways, including through ethical attunement to their own situations, and by making space for all kinds of responses that escape the grip of moralism.

Finally, the story of paranoid reading is traced back to schooling and the way that students are taught to internalize constant evaluation. Detached from the immediacy of life, measuring everything in relation to fixed standards, it becomes possible to find inadequacies everywhere. When these tendencies take over, there is no space for celebration or surprise. At the same time, we point to some of the ways that this is being undone, not by abandoning critique, but by recovering complementary capacities to explore potential and encounter new things.

Ideology

The militant diagram

Either you respect people's capacities to think for themselves, to govern themselves, to creatively devise their own best ways to make decisions, to be accountable, to relate, problem-solve, break-down isolation and commune in a thousand different ways ... OR: you dis-respect them. You dis-respect ALL of us.

-Ashanti Alston[136]

A major force that has contributed to rigid radicalism is rigid ideology, and its tendency to generate certainties and fixed answers that close off the potential for experimentation. Alongside the Marxist critique of capitalist ideology was an aspiration to replace it with a revolutionary anti-capitalist ideology. It was thought that revolution required a unified consciousness among proletarians: they needed to be taught that it was in their interests to overthrow capitalism. The revolutionary vanguard was tasked with developing and disseminating this ideology, and with everything in life subordinated to the goal of revolution, everyone and everything could be treated instrumentally, as a means to the seizure of state power and the end of capitalism.

The philosopher Nick Thoburn links this revolutionary anti-capitalist ideology to what he calls a "militant diagram": a persistent affective and ideological tendency that first emerged through Bolshevism and Leninism.[137] It was later expressed in movements throughout the twentieth century, from Third World national liberation struggles, to socialist formations in North America and Europe, to Black Power in the 1960s and '70s. According to Colectivo Situaciones, a militant research group in Argentina, this figure of militancy is always "setting out the party line,"

keeping for himself a knowledge of what ought to happen in the situation, which he always approaches from outside, in an instrumental and transitive way (situations have value as moments of a general strategy that encompasses them), because his fidelity is, above all, ideological and preexists all situations.[138]

The notion of a correct party line took different forms among different movements, but the basic (hierarchical, rigid) structure was the same: a certain privileged group would help usher in the revolution through a correct interpretation of theory and the unfolding of history. Despite joyful transformations and insurrectionary openings, tendencies towards vanguardism and rigid ideology often led groups towards isolation and stagnation.

Among many other groups, these tendencies can be seen in the US-based Weather Underground, a militant white anti-imperialist group active during the 1970s. They are best-known for their series of bombings targeting public infrastructure and monuments, conducted in an attempt to wake up white Americans to realities of US imperialism such as the government's slaughter of Vietnamese people and its assassination of Black Panthers.

They also adopted Maoist self-criticism in order to ferret out any trace of the dominant ideology within their group. Criticism sessions, which could last for hours or even days, involved members discussing weaknesses, tactical mistakes, emotional investments, preparedness for violence, and even sexual proclivities in an effort to shed all attachments to the dominant order and induce a revolutionary way of being.[139] Even the most ruthless criticism could be justified as part of this process, and the Weather Underground developed a whole regimen of practices designed to purify themselves of any trace of dominant ideology, coupled with constant injunctions towards (what they saw as) the most militant forms of action possible.

While their tactics were controversial, they were also widely supported at the time, and the Weather Underground was only one of many groups that were bombing and sabotaging corporate and government infrastructure. What we are interested in getting at is not particular tactics, nor something specific to underground groups, but the way that certain tendencies of thought, action, and feeling can congeal into stifling patterns. As former Weather Underground member Bernardine Dohrn writes,

Weather succumbed to dogma, arrogance, and certainty. We were not alone. There was recovery, and amends that are still underway. But the perceived necessity to have answers to everything and to struggle endlessly resulted in ungenerous and damaging leadership, harm to great comrades, and wretched behaviour.[140]

As Bill Ayers, another former member, explains, the attempt to escape completely from a culture of white supremacy and capitalist conformity enforced an intense, alternative orthodoxy:

It was fanatical obedience, we militant nonconformists suddenly tripping over one another to be exactly alike, following the sticky roles of congealed idealism. I cannot reproduce the stifling atmosphere that overpowered us. Events came together with the gentleness of an impending train wreck, and there was the sad sensation of waiting for impact.[141]

Though the goal was to create revolutionary forms of organization capable of overthrowing the US government, their ideological rigidity and norms of relentless self-sacrifice paradoxically isolated them further and further from the "masses" that they sought to mobilize.

When we interviewed him, Gustavo Esteva discussed his own experience of Marxist-Leninist militancy in Latin America during this time:

In the '60s, when I became associated with a group in the process of organizing a guerrilla in Mexico, whose members were assuming that they were already the vanguard of the proletariat because they had the revolutionary program, I was fully immersed in what we now call sad militancy. Our "program" was evidently an intellectual construction in the Leninist tradition. We had already our criticism of Stalinism, etc. but we still were in the tradition of trying to seize the power of the state for a revolution from the top down, through social engineering. We were thus preparing ourselves (military training, etc) and organizing. Of course, there were moments or conditions of joy, laughter, intensified emotion, exhilaration ... The environment of conspiracy and clandestinity and the shared ideology shaped real camaraderie and episodes full of joy, but it was clear that the experience itself was pure sad militancy, full of creating boundaries, making distinctions, comparing, making plans, and so on ... How the whole experience ended makes the point better than any of those stories: one of our leaders killed the other leader because of a woman. The episode evidenced for us the kind of violence we were accumulating in ourselves and wanted to impose on the whole society. In the military training, for an army or a guerrilla, to learn how to use a weapon is pretty easy; what is difficult is to learn to kill someone in cold blood, someone like you, that did nothing personal against you ... Nothing sadder than that.[142]

The experience of the Weather Underground and Esteva both make it clear that these ideological tendencies are not just about ideas; they also contain their own pleasures and highs, induced in part by the sense of being clandestine and more aware than "the masses." Ideology is not simply rigid and cold: it can include a warm sense of belonging and camaraderie among its adherents.

This tendency has percolated into contemporary movements and groups, including those that are not directly influenced by Marxism-Leninism or Maoism. Nick Thoburn suggests,

It is a central paradox of militancy that as an organization constitutes itself as a unified body it tends to become closed to the outside, to the non-militant, those who would be the basis of any mass movement. Indeed, to the degree that the militant body conceives of itself as having discovered the correct revolutionary principle and establishes its centre of activity on adherence to this principle, it has a tendency to develop hostility to those who fall short of its standard.[143]

As militant rigidity increases, a gap widens between the group and its outside. But a single, unified Marxism-Leninism has existed only as a dream. In reality, there has been a proliferation of sectarian commitments to various ideologies, including strains of Marxism, anarchism, socialism, and so on. Ideological thinking is not necessarily something escaped through more and better thinking. For Esteva, one of the things that fundamentally destabilized the strictures of his Leninism was his joyful encounter with others, and their confidence in their own capacities to respond to problems with conviviality:

The joy of living, the passion for fiestas, the capacity to express emotions, the social climate that I found at the grassroots, in villages and barrios, in the midst of extreme misery, began to change my attitudes. My participation in different kinds of peasant and urban marginal movements gave me a radically different approach. The break point was perhaps the explosion of autonomy and self-organization after the earthquake in Mexico City in 1985. It became for me a life-changing experience. The victims of the earthquake were suffering all kinds of hardships. They had lost friends and relatives, their homes, their possessions, almost everything. Their convivial reconstruction of their lives and culture would not have been possible without the amazing passion for living they showed at every moment. Such passion had very powerful political expressions and was the seed for amazing social movements. In the following years the balance of forces changed in Mexico City, already a monstrous settlement of fifteen million people. There was a radical contrast between the guerrilla and these movements. The very notion of militancy changed in me: it was no longer associated with an organization, a party, an ideology, and even less a war ... It was an act of love.[144]

To experience joy in this way is not simply to feel good, but to be transformed. Esteva's experience with the grassroots led him to center conviviality and joy in his work and his life while continuing to be involved with and support militant movements, including the Zapatistas and the insurrectionary uprisings in Oaxaca.

For us, this shows that militancy is always about more than tactics or combativeness; it is tied to questions of affect: how movements enable people to grow their own capacities and become new people (or don't). Marina Sitrin consistently foregrounds affect in her own work with horizontalist movements in Argentina, and when we interviewed her for this book, she talked about her experience with the different affective spaces created by groups she has been involved with:

On a basic level, the space a group or movement creates from the beginning is key-the tone and openness, or not, makes a big difference if one wants to focus on new relationships with one another. Along these same lines, ideological rigidity and hierarchies in ideas, formal and informal, create a closed and eventually nasty space for those not ascribing to the ideology or a part of the clique. People do not stay in movements that organize in this way, or if they do it is with a sort of obedience that is not transformative and instead creates versions of the same power and hierarchy ...

My early organizing experiences were fortunately with anti-racist and later Central American Solidarity movements, with people who had been a part of the civil rights and later anti-nuclear movements, so who had a focus at least in part on social relationships and democracy. Later however, when I decided I needed to be a part of a revolutionary group that was organizing against capitalism as a whole, well, I found myself in a few different centrist socialist groups which were really soul-deadening. It was all about ideology and guilt. One could never do enough, and could never know enough or quote enough of whomever was the revolutionary of the day (James Cannon, Tony Cliff, etc). It was also politically all about the end and not the day to day, that even included women, which one would think, after the radical feminist movement, [that] these groups would get that relationships have to change now; but no, it was all about the future free society we all had to work for-accepting relationships as they are, pretty much.

I later came around some anarchist groups, thinking that they would be more open and focused on the day to day, as that is what I had read from the theory, but found the rigidity around identity too harsh and since I was not squatting or dressing a certain way I was kept at arm's length-which was fine since I felt too rejected to try very hard.[145]

Sitrin's account makes it clear that rigid radicalism does not stem from one ideology or group in particular. Marxism-Leninism has lost its grip on many movements, and accounts of such groups can sound strange and distant today. In North America at least, the dream of a revolutionary seizure of state power has lost a lot of its force, but in many cases Marxist ideology has been superseded by other ideological closures and sectarian tendencies. Currents of anarchism can be just as hostile and ideologically rigid.

Ideology in anarchism

Anarchism is a vibrant and complex tradition. At their most joyful, anarchist currents support common notions such as mutual aid, autonomy, direct action, and solidarity while refusing ideological closures. At the same time however, anarchists have always grappled with ideology. The early twentieth-century anarchist feminist Emma Goldman shared this experience in her autobiography:

At the dances I was one of the most untiring and gayest. One evening a cousin of Sasha [Alexander Berkman], a young boy, took me aside. With a grave face, as if he were about to announce the death of a dear comrade, he whispered to me that it did not behoove an agitator to dance. Certainly not with such reckless abandon, anyway. It was undignified for one who was on the way to become a force in the anarchist movement. My frivolity would only hurt the Cause.

I grew furious at the impudent interference of the boy. I told him to mind his own business, I was tired of having the Cause constantly thrown into my face. I did not believe that a Cause which stood for a beautiful ideal, for anarchism, for release and freedom from conventions and prejudice, should demand the denial of life and joy. I insisted that our Cause could not expect me to become a nun and that the movement should not be turned into a cloister. If it meant that, I did not want it. "I want freedom, the right to self-expression, everybody's right to beautiful, radiant things." Anarchism meant that to me, and I would live it in spite of the whole world--prisons, persecution, everything. Yes, even in spite of the condemnation of my own comrades I would live my beautiful ideal.[146]

Since Goldman wrote about this a century ago, this kind of policing has continued, but in new and different ways. While Maoism and Leninism were ascendant in radical politics, it took the form of maintaining an explicit party line. With the decline of these ideologies, rigid radicalism has shape-shifted into new forms. One of the ideological tendencies animating anarchist and anti-authoritarian spaces is what amory starr calls "grumpywarriorcool." Rather than the militant conformity of Marxist-Leninism, grumpywarriorcool manifests as an ideology of individualistic anti-conformity and anti-vanguardism. starr gives a polemical example of the "manarchist" whose "freedom" to do whatever he wants ends up reinforcing individualism, whiteness, and patriarchy:

"i'm going to stink, i'm going in there even though i'm contagious, i'm going to bring my barking dog, i have the right to do whatever the fuck i want and people just have to deal with it and i'm going to call this "cultural diversity" ... meanwhile other folks around are feeling like another white guy is doing whatever the fuck he wants.[147]

She suggests that privileging individual freedom is ideological because it tends to force out potentials for connection, curiosity, and a sense of collective responsibility. In starr's analysis, there are some continuities between grumpywarriorcool and earlier ideological forms; norms of fearlessness, self-sacrifice, and bravery, she argues, can end up eliminating space to express hesitation or fear. These intimate reflections can be transformative, but they remain hidden because it is too difficult to voice them in a climate where fearlessness is the ideal. Similarly, starr names "smart radicalism" as a fundamental premise of white, anti-authoritarian organizing of grumpywarriorcool: a commitment to radical principles and theories, a "correct" interpretation of them, and the assumption that this correctness will avoid mistakes. Forced out by these tendencies are friendliness, comfort, generosity, and curiosity.[148] Outsiders are viewed with cool suspicion.

These stories are not meant as a criticism of anarchism (or Marxism) as a whole; we are trying to locate ideological tendencies within these complex and varied traditions. At its best, anarchism has enabled the refusal of fixed ideologies in favor of experimentation, openness, autonomy, and a proliferation of different struggles and forms of life. As scott crow writes,

An abundance of literature has been written about anarchism over the last hundred years. How is it organized? What could it look like? What are examples of it in practice? There are also complex critiques and analyses of it, but, for me, anarchism is just a point of reference, a descriptive word to get one's bearings for starting conversations that move to action. It describes an opening up of possibilities for changing ourselves and our communities. It describes a set of guiding principles and ideas, serious and playful at once, not a rigid ideology.[149]

We think this conception of anarchism-as a point of reference and an evolving set of questions-can help ward off the crystallization of fixed ideology. crow further suggests that anarchism is animated by a trust in people's ability to solve their own problems and take collective responsibility, rather than a prescription for how they should do it. This is the kind of anarchism we are after: a non-ideological sensibility that nurtures trust in people's capacity to care for each other and to be responsive, inventive, and militant.

The limits of ideology

In this sense, Ashanti Alston suggests that the problem is not about displacing Marxism-Leninism or Maoism with an anarchist ideology; the problem is ideology as such, and all the baggage that comes with it:

Ideology ... comes out of having a set of answers for something. So even for me with my anarchism, I don't think it's classical. I don't call myself an anarcho-communist or none of the others. There's definitely anarchism that's open to being in tune with always-changing realities. For me, anarcho-communists got good points about certain things, primitivists have good points about certain things. Them two don't get along, but I get something from both of them. I like some aspects of anarcho-individualism, and Tolstoy's spiritualism. For most of my folks, my people are Christians or Muslims and increasingly Yoruba, Kemetic, and other African religions that they're recovering and using. I don't want to be categorized as a particular school because I know if I do, the world I would hope to be created won't have room for all kinds of tendencies of anarchism, or all kinds of tendencies of people living their lives according to their own terms.[150]

From this perspective, ideology is a screen that limits the possibility of open-ended encounters where mutual learning and transformation can take place. Its inducement of conformity tends towards closed, stagnant little enclaves. Ideological and sectarian tendencies offer the comfort of being able to pin things down, the pleasure of feeling that one is above or ahead of others, and the somber ability to sort new encounters into neat categories so that one is never too unsettled or affected by anything.

Undoing ideology

Rather than becoming rooted in a single ideological current, Alston points to the potential of affirming the most enabling parts of a multiplicity of currents. Similarly, when we interviewed Richard Day, he made a distinction between an ideological approach and an ethical one, like Alston's:

Day: If someone is working ideologically, they will have a pat answer to any question that might be asked, without having to do much in the way of thinking or analysis. If you ask a liberal about smashing bank windows in a protest, they will probably say it's violent and bad; if you ask an anarchist, they will probably say it's not violence, it's destruction of stolen property and quite a valid thing to do. This is similar to working morally, in that you need only consult a tablet, ask a functionary such as a priest, and they will tell you what to do and not do.

In a critical, analytic-ethical-way of relating, it is impossible to know what one might think or feel ahead of time; that will be contingent upon many circumstances of the situation. There is likely to be much more complexity, much more nuance, less dogmatism, certainty, and purity.

In general, I think it's safe to associate ideological ways of relating with rigid radicalism, and that's why you find that so many people, all over the world, who are actually involved in the most powerful social movements and upheavals, tend to steer away from ideology, and orient more to shared values, practices, and goals.

Nick & carla: And not being ideological means being uncertain, as well, right?

Day: Yeah. Working non-ideologically definitely involves an element of openness, a vulnerability, not only at the level of emotion, but also at the level of thought, and of political relationships. There is a certain sort of safety in having an answer for everything.[151]

As we insisted earlier, ethics here does not mean an individualized set of fixed principles (as in consumer ethics, or personal ethics) but instead a capacity to be attuned to the situation, to be immersed in it, and to create something emergent out of the existing conditions. Alston speaks to the power and potential of working across difference in ways that respect where people are coming from:

Different consciousnesses can come from different places ... and we can figure out the dialog, how to create a way forward that respects us all, that respects the different worlds that we come from. So for me, if that had happened back then in 1970, where would we have been right now? And for me, that's such a better way to go, 'cause for the queer community, or the Yoruba community that may exist in Brooklyn, what's best for them? Whether one is a small geographical community or tied to their ethnicity or dealing with a lifestyle, we should just be open to come together and see how we can do this in a different kind of way. That's the challenge.[152]

This is the ethics of encounter. Instead of asking whether we (or they) are inherently radical, revolutionary, or anarchist, an ethical approach asks questions about how we affect each other, what new encounters become possible, and what we can do together. None of the answers to these questions can be known in advance. They can only be asked as part of an open-ended, unfolding experiment, as markers in an always-changing world, in which we figure things out along the way. As the anarchist collective Crimethinc writes,

If the hallmark of ideology is that it begins from an answer or a conceptual framework and attempts to work backward from there, then one way to resist ideology is to start from questions rather than answers. That is to say-when we intervene in social conflicts, doing so in order to assert questions rather than conclusions.

What is it that brings together and defines a movement, if not questions? Answers can alienate or stupefy, but questions seduce. Once enamored of a question, people will fight their whole lives to answer it. Questions precede answers and outlast them: every answer only perpetuates the question that begot it.[153]

Morality, fear, and ethical attunement

The Christian origins of morality

There is perhaps no phenomenon which contains so much destructive feeling as moral indignation, which permits envy or hate to be acted out under the guise of virtue.

-Erich Fromm[154]

There is a second story, related and overlapping, but distinct: rigid radicalism can be traced to a Christian current of moralism, with its penchants for fear and hostility to a sinful world. Even within Christianity, this was not the only current; it has always also been a site of transformation and revolt.[155] But the dominant form of Christianity over centuries in Europe was a colonizing force, seeking to crush its own rebellious currents within and to convert or annihilate the rest of the world. To be successful, the Church did not merely command obedience. Through practices like confession, it taught its subjects to internalize their own sinfulness, guilt, and inadequacy. This Christian subjectivity is one based in resentment of excess and transformation, bent on spreading guilt and shame. Inspired in part by his reading of Spinoza, Friedrich Nietzsche showed how Christian morality sacralized meekness and submission, turning powerlessness into a mark of blessedness.[156] His concept of ressentiment names the nurturance of a deep-seated hatred and fear of otherness, and of one's own sinful desires, based in a stultifying morality.

Over the last several centuries guilt and shame have undergone a secular conversion, rejecting the Church for its superstition, while embracing ressentiment. This secular subject hates the Church, but loves its poison.[157] The affective structures of lack, guilt, fear, and purism remains intact.

Morality in movement

Don't be in such a hurry to condemn a person because he doesn't do what you do, or think as you think or as fast. There was a time when you didn't know what you know today.

-Malcolm X[158]

Liberal morality seeps into movements in the form of incessant regulation and pacification of struggles. It replaces the transformative power of dignity with moral indignation and its tendencies of shame and self-righteousness. It pathologizes anger, hatred, and destruction, turning non-violence into a moral imperative rather than a tactic. This is the morality of the cop who tells you to calm down with one hand on his gun; the sympathizer whose "support" for you evaporates as soon as things become "violent"; the citizen who says you had better vote or you can't complain. People in struggle are constantly told about the "correct" way of conducting themselves if they want to be respected and heard. The liberal morality of whiteness converts racism and sexism into matters of individual prejudice. Conversations about violence and oppression are constantly derailed by individual emotions and the erasure of power relations where white feelings matter more than Black lives.

Under the stifling weight of liberal morality, anti-liberal morality has grown in reaction. The targets and the enemies change, but the structure remains, and radical morality can reach new heights of corrosive self-righteousness and punishment. From this perspective, things are always in danger of becoming infected or diluted by liberalism. Liberal or oppressive sentiments must be attacked wherever they are detected. Call-outs and radical take-downs proliferate. Indignation grows: everything is corrupt and tainted; nothing is as it should be. This "as it should be" is no longer determined by Christian priests, or politicians and good citizens, but by a radical certainty that one is on the right side of a moral drama between good and evil.

Like the old Christian morality, new forms of moralism subsist on the evils they decry: to remain pious, the priest must reveal new sins. This can surface as an incessant search for oppression and a ceaseless attack on anyone who is found guilty, including oneself, through new forms of confession, trials, and punishments. The new Other is the not-radical-enough, the liberal, the perpetrator, the oppressor.

A number of our interlocutors have pointed out how these moralistic tendencies toward punishment can end up excluding many of those who are supposed to be centered by anti-oppressive practices: poor people, people without formal education, and others who haven't been exposed to the ever evolving language of radical communities. In a compassionate way, Kelsey Cham C. shares their experience with call-out culture and language policing upon being introduced to radical communities:

When I came out as queer in Montreal ... I started to find accurate words to describe how I felt about the world. Even though this skill was my entry into more political communities, I still felt incredibly judged. It was like an ultra-heightened experience of not being allowed in the cool-kid club in high school -- but with all new rules that I had not learned and that no one took the time to explain to me. The language I grew up with could no longer be applied and would sometimes get me kicked out of social settings. My entire experience of growing up was judged and I felt totally isolated in trying to figure out why.

As I've gotten older, I've figured out the "right way" to navigate in these communities by learning language protocol and radical terminology while dropping the offensive and oppressive slang. I don't disagree with changing language to support systems we care about. I do disagree with judging people for not knowing the rules-especially since radicals are often organizing in favor of marginalized communities who are generally not aware of these rules.

If I wanted to fill out a form to describe my identity, I could check a bunch of boxes that would make my experience worth standing up for: Queer. Trans. Person of Color. Former Sex Trade Worker. Ironically, the biggest advocates for people like me-the people ready to throw down stats about harm reduction and youth, gender queer folks, and the vulnerable people in society-many of them had no patience for me. I came into their communities looking for support, friends, and direction. I came having left abusive and sexually manipulative partners. I came in hella lost, unaware, and not very educated. But I came in agreement with their political perspectives, because I knew society was fucked from the time I was twelve-maybe even younger. In high school, while other kids wrote about teen heartbreak, I wrote about injustices I saw everywhere. I came into these radical communities wanting to make change, but all my habits and the language I had learned to protect myself with got me in shit.[159]

Cham C.'s story gets at a common experience in radical milieus, in which language and conduct are intensely scrutinized, and those who fail are often forced out. Far from arbitrary, these rules are often earnest attempts to root out oppressive behaviors, with the aspiration of creating spaces where everyday habits and language are less laden with structural violence. In a world where white supremacy, homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, and other forms of violence are incessant, the desire to create spaces that feel a little safer makes a lot of sense. Yet as Cham C. explains, they can become stifling and exclusionary in the enforcement of a "right" way of being.

What reinforces rigid radicalism, we think, is not the attempt to change language or behavior, but the way these attempts can be subsumed by moralism and reinforce shame, blame, punishment, and guilt. Morality is dangerous not only because it can reinforce oppression, but because it can divorce people from their own power. People are reduced to their statements, becoming symptoms or examples of violence, rather than complex and changing beings. Moral indignation can promote stagnation, encouraging complaints and condemnations that lead nowhere. The desire to be morally right can get in the way of here-and-now transformation.

Warding off morality with common notions

Squeezed out by morality, we think, are common notions: ethical, responsive ways of relating that are tuned to the complexities of each situation and capable of supporting collective transformation. When morality takes over, common notions are converted into rigid principles, or practices that can no longer be questioned. This can be seen in what has become known as "call-out culture" in many radical milieus: the prevalence of publicly attacking certain statements or behaviors as oppressive. As Toronto-based writer Asam Ahmad writes,

What makes call-out culture so toxic is not necessarily its frequency so much as the nature and performance of the call-out itself. Especially in online venues like Twitter and Facebook, calling someone out isn't just a private interaction between two individuals: it's a public performance where people can demonstrate their wit or how pure their politics are. Indeed, sometimes it can feel like the performance itself is more significant than the content of the call-out.

Call-out culture can end up mirroring what the prison industrial complex teaches us about crime and punishment: to banish and dispose of individuals rather than to engage with them as people with complicated stories and histories.

It isn't an exaggeration to say that there is a mild totalitarian undercurrent not just in call-out culture but also in how progressive communities police and define the bounds of who's in and who's out. More often than not, this boundary is constructed through the use of appropriate language and terminology - a language and terminology that are forever shifting and almost impossible to keep up with. In such a context, it is impossible not to fail at least some of the time.[160]

Through its toxic performance, call-out culture can activate and intensify a climate of fear, shame, and self-righteousness. It is important to note that none of the voices we are bringing into this chapter are suggesting that calling people out, naming oppression, or creating boundaries is wrong. Because oppression is so pervasive and people's responses to it are so heavily policed and pathologized, these can be hard conversations to have. We want to suggest that this conversation is already being had in ways that are more open, transformative, and ethical than what morality allows for. Ethical attunement disrupts universalizing moral frameworks that would dictate how people deal with oppression. It enables exploration, collective questioning, and responsiveness that is tuned to the situation at hand.

In a widely circulated article entitled "Calling IN: A Less Disposable Way of Holding Each Other Accountable," Ngọc Loan Trần explains how calling out can feed into destructive ways of relating:

Most of us know the drill. Someone says something that supports the oppression of another community, the red flags pop up and someone swoops in to call them out.

But what happens when that someone is a person we know - and love? What happens when we ourselves are that someone?

And what does it mean for our work to rely on how we have been programmed to punish people for their mistakes?

I'll be the first person and the last person to say that anger is valid. Mistakes are mistakes; they deepen the wounds we carry. I know that for me when these mistakes are committed by people who I am in community with, it hurts even more. But these are people I care deeply about and want to see on the other side of the hurt, pain, and trauma: I am willing to offer compassion and patience as a way to build the road we are taking but have never seen before.[161]

Whereas morality tends toward universal answers, certainties, and binary thinking, Trần recovers space for openness and uncertainty in the concept of "calling in," pointing to the ways that people are supporting each other in naming harm and violence, and undoing it together. Trần goes on to say that calling in is not about being soft or nice, but instead about tuning in to the complexities and relationships of each situation when dealing with harm and mistakes:

I don't propose practicing "calling in" in opposition to calling out. I don't think that our work has room for binary thinking and action. However, I do think that it's possible to have multiple tools, strategies, and methods existing simultaneously. It's about being strategic, weighing the stakes and figuring out what we're trying to build and how we are going to do it together.[162]

In this sense, calling in can be understood as a common notion: not a fixed way of being or even a recommendation, but a practice that can be developed collectively, with transformative effects, and shared with caution. It is resonant with other common notions that have developed elsewhere, such as "leaning in" and "meeting people where they're at." It is an invitation to tune into the specificities and relationships in each situation, rather than falling back on the prescriptions and justifications of morality.

Ethical attunement might include firm boundaries and aggressive call-outs. It might include attunement to one's own exhaustion, resulting in a refusal to engage at all. We find that ethical attunement thrives most as a collective process of experimentation. Like the concepts of infinite responsibility and emergent trust, it is sustained through a willingness to make mistakes and to allow others to make them, rather than trying to avoid being wrong. It's ultimately about the shared capacity to take care of each other in the face of pain, hurt, and violence.

For anti-racist work with a middle class orientation, this then often looks like an over-emphasis on changing personal behavior, using correct language, and calling out other people who aren't acting and speaking in the right way. It can lead to a looking down on the communities that you have come from and distancing yourself from your own past by ruthlessly criticizing everyone who acts and talks like you did two weeks ago.[163]

Crass goes on to link these middle-class tendencies to perfectionism and a fear of making mistakes. At the same time, he makes it clear that this is not an attack on the people reproducing these tendencies, but on Empire's forms of subjection:

The enemy is capitalism, not middle class activists. And a middle class orientation isn't something that only middle class people can have, it's the orientation that all of us who aren't ruling class are raised to endlessly and exhaustingly strive for.[164]

Feminism, disability justice, decolonization, Black liberation, and other interconnected currents are short-circuiting individualizing moralism with much more complex stories about oppression. Stories about institutionalized white supremacy do not blame individual white people, but they do not let us off the hook, either: they reveal the ways that we are participating in a system that stretches far beyond us, and they compel us to discover ways to disrupt that system by supporting anti-racist struggles. They attune us to relationships and histories and deepen response-ability, not the the prescription of fixed duties, but by growing capacities to be responsive to a whole range of collectively formulated problems.

Common notions are emerging all the time against the grain of moralism. These conversations are already happening in ways that get beyond dichotomies of rightness and wrongness towards more complex questions. This can be seen when people are able to draw out other ways of being with each other, activating collective responses to violence. It can be seen in disruptive tactics of direct action, and in the quiet forms of healing and being present with others. It can be seen in the strategic use of privilege, and in the ways that people plant seeds and trust others to reach their own conclusions.

Transformative responses like these are joyful in the Spinozan sense; they lead not to an increase in happiness, but to an increase in one's capacity to affect and be affected, with all the pain and risk and uncertainty this might entail. Joy is never a duty, and never something imposed on other people. We are not saying people should be ethically attuned. We are trying to affirm that joyful transformation is already happening, as an emergent power that undoes moralism and opens up new potentials, sometimes even beautifully. Joy subsists through common notions, which need to be held and tended in order to remain alive. As Ursula K. Le Guin writes in The Lathe of Heaven, "Love doesn't just sit there, like a stone. It has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, made new."[165]

You're so paranoid, you probably think this section is about you

Lack-finding, perfectionism, schooling, walking

What follows is a third story about the origins of rigid radicalism, guided by these questions: What makes it possible, or even predictable, for radical spaces and movements to be perceived in terms of their shortcomings? What encourages the suspicion and incessant critique that runs through so many radical milieus? Is there something that makes critique a reflex and a habit, and forces out other possibilities?

One example is learning to walk: when little kids take their first steps, people around them cheer, rejoice, and celebrate. We take photos, tell friends, and record these moments because we want to share the joy in witnessing the emergence of a new increase in capacity: this kid is learning to walk! But if we take a perfectionist perspective, then why celebrate? The kid won't usually walk for very long; they stumble and fall, and they certainly can't run. But no one says "Why are you celebrating? They're not really walking yet!"

If the kid learning to walk is just another kid walking, it's no longer something worth celebrating. Those who celebrate it are naïve, or getting a bit carried away: kids are learning to walk all the time. But in the moment, it doesn't seem naïve, because we are part of the process of witnessing this kid walk, in this way, for the very first time.

We bring up this example because it seems obvious that it is nonsensical to impose external ideals of walking on little kids who are just learning, or to approach the situation with a detached and suspicious stance. It seems obvious (we hope) that a toddler's increase in capacity-those first steps that mark the emergence of something new-is sufficient in itself. It is a joyful moment, worth celebrating, not because it's part of some linear process of development, but because it's an emergent power for that kid, palpable to all present in those moments.

With this in mind, why is it so difficult, sometimes, to celebrate small victories or humble increases in collective power and capacity? What makes it so easy to dismiss transformation as too limited? What makes it so easy to find joy lacking? We see variants of this dynamic happen a lot: someone celebrates something joyful, while others offer up reminders of its insufficiency. We find ourselves doing the same thing, sometimes. What allows for the constant imposition of external norms, criteria, and ideals for evaluation?

Surely it comes from many different places, but we think part of it can be traced to the ways schooling crushes openness to new encounters. Most of us have been exposed to at least some of this for big chunks of our lives: schooling replaces curiosity with instruction, memorization, and hierarchical evaluation. We are encouraged to internalize the notion that our worth is connected to our grades, that we are locked in competition with our classmates, and that we are like empty vessels awaiting knowledge.

Not long after children learn to walk, they are often stuck in schools and subjected to constant monitoring, control, and evaluation. In school, new capacities can only be affirmed when they conform to the criteria set out by the institution; that is, when a student has learned a particular thing, at the right time, in the right way. Curiosity and the discovery of emergent connections need to be crushed in order to create this conformity, and those who refuse or resist are quickly labeled "problem" children, in need of remedial education, medication, therapy, or punishment.

Those who make it through learn to internalize incessant evaluation by externally imposed standards. By reducing lives to these external standards, schooling crushes the capacity for joy. Adults, parents, and other caregivers are tasked with continuing this process outside of school, teaching children to categorize and measure everything, including themselves. There is always someone further along, who has done it better and more proficiently. Evaluation works by removing the immediacy of life where we can sense the unfurling of newness and potential and learn by exploring the world, following our curiosities.

Radical perfectionism and paranoid reading

This tendency for constant evaluation and the imposition of external standards has percolated its way into many facets of life under Empire. It exists even among radicals: what changes is merely the kind of standards and the mode of evaluation. Is it radical? Is it anarchist? Is it critical? Is it revolutionary? Is it anti-oppressive? How might it be co-opted, complicit, or flawed? What is problematic? What does it fail to do? How limited, ineffective, and short-lived is it? Margaret Killjoy spoke to us about the ways that these tendencies can pervade anarchist spaces:

While I think there's a decent bit of spontaneity and not-making-rules and such going on in radicalism, I see an awful lot less creativity at the moment. Particularly, I see very little creativity from tactical, strategic, and even theoretical analysis ... For a bunch of anarchists, we're remarkably uncomfortable with new ideas. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that happens because we've really honed our ability to critique things but not our ability to embrace things.[167]

Applied incessantly, critique can become a reflex that forces out other capacities. The queer theorist Eve Sedgwick argues that this penchant for constant critique runs through many currents of radical thought, in what she calls paranoid reading.[168] Paranoid reading is based on a stance of suspicion: an attempt to avoid co-optation or mistakes through constant vigilance. It seeks to ward off bad surprises by ensuring that oppression and violence are already known, or at least anticipated, so that one will not be caught off guard, and so that one can react to the first sign of trouble. The result is that one is always on guard and never surprised. By approaching everything with detached suspicion, one closes off the capacity to be affected in new ways.

When we interviewed Richard Day, he suggested that this tendency is linked to being in pain and converting that pain into an incessant search for lack:

In general, I think rigid radicalism is a response to feeling really hurt and fucked up. And the real enemy is the dominant order, but it gets mixed into this big soup, so the enemy becomes each other. It becomes oneself. It's a finding lacking as such ... a finding lacking almost everywhere with almost everyone. And when that lack is found, then of course there needs to be some action: which is going to be to tell, or force, or coerce, or get at that lack, and try to turn it into a wholeness. So strangely enough I'd suggest that rigid radicalism is driven by a desire to heal. And it has exactly the opposite effect: of sundering the self more, of sundering communities more, and so on.[169]

Those of us who regularly find ourselves in pain might find this paradox familiar. Through the constant imposition of external standards, everything can be found lacking, and all kinds of coercive responses can seem justified. An endless cycle ensues: no one and nothing is good enough, and this paranoid stance constantly incapacitates exploration, healing, and affirmation.

Many of us learn this mode of thought through university, or through immersion in radical spaces themselves: we learn to search for, anticipate, and point out the pervasiveness of Empire. Even without the sad rigor of the Weather Underground, we learn to search the bodies, behaviors, and words of others for any shred of complicity. Mik Turje spoke to this tendency when we interviewed them:

I think as a youth I was really idealistic, and I came to the university context, and critical theory, where idealism and imagining something better was stamped out as something naïve. The only option was to master the hypercritical language myself, and one-upping people. I got really good at that. I won all of the political arguments in school, but ... I was being a shitbag of a militant, tearing everyone down.[170]

By being immersed in paranoid reading, people learn to find themselves and others lacking. Having been "educated," one becomes a pedagogue oneself, spreading the word about Empire, oppression, and violence, and in the process one tends to position others as naïve and ignorant.

This is clear in how surprise and curiosity are often infantilized by Empire. They are treated as foolish or "childish"-that is, lacking the educated, rational, civilized, adult capacities of detached evaluation. Paranoid reading and its association with adulthood and rational detachment are transmitted through schooling, founded on patriarchal white supremacy. Based on suspicion, perfectionism, and the penchant for finding flaws in ourselves and others, paranoid reading prevents us from being joyfully in touch with the world and with the always already present potential for transformation.

Crucially, paranoid reading and lack-finding have their own affective ecology, with their own pleasures and rewards. There can be a sense of satisfaction in being the one who anticipates or exposes inadequacy. There can be safety and comfort in a paranoid stance, because it helps ensure that we already know what to do with new encounters. Incessantly exposing flaws can be pleasurable, and can even become a source of belonging.

We think this is at the heart of what destroys the transformative potential of movements from within: the capacity for paranoid reading closes off the capacity to embrace and be embraced by new things. The stance of detached judgment means remaining at a distance from what is taking place. In contrast, experimentation requires openness and vulnerability, including the risk of being caught off guard or hurt. From a paranoid perspective, things like gratitude, celebration, curiosity, and openness are naïve at best, and potentially dangerous. When everything is anticipated, or one can see immediately how something is imperfect or lacking, one misses the capacity to be affected and moved.

Holding ambivalence

Beyond mere happiness, what is being crushed by paranoid reading and lack-finding is all the ambivalence and messy intensity of transformation. Walidah Imarisha evokes this powerfully in her book, Angels With Dirty Faces, in which she shares the moment when she and other prison abolition organizers learned that Haramia, one of their imprisoned comrades, has had his death sentence commuted after a long struggle:

"The governor commuted his sentence!" Haramia's campaign organizer smiled brighter than the sun beating down on us.

"It's the first time Perry ever did it! The Board of Pardons voted 6-1 for clemency - they haven't voted to stop an execution in 25 years. We did it! We won!"

Silence. Incredulousness. Too scared to believe, to hope.

Then the explosion - yelling, hugging, crying [...]

They commuted Haramia's sentence to life in prison. On an LA radio interview, I spoke of this victory. A woman called in: "But he's still in prison, for life. Isn't that a death sentence too? How can you call this a win?"

I paused. "We won a battle in the larger war. We know that tomorrow we have to get up to continue. Tonight we celebrate. We celebrate that tomorrow, Haramia will see another dawn. Today ... today was a good day."

We took over the prison yard, the supporters. Sprawled out on the grass. Screamed the good news into cell phones. Fell into each other's arms, laughing. Unable to give words to my feelings, I somersaulted across the prison lawn. It was the first time I ever felt truly joyous in a prison yard, without a sense of dread and sadness nestled underneath.

It was the only time I saw guards do absolutely nothing as we broke every prison conduct rule, written and unwritten. They knew we won that day.

I couldn't help but feel Hasan's* presence. Smiling his child-like grin. Whispering softly, "Yeah, Wa Wa, enjoy it now.

"Tomorrow we got a lot more work to do."[171]

Imarisha's story evokes the intensity of this moment, palpable even to the prison guards: it was enough to disrupt, if only for a few moments, the brutal and arbitrary rules of the prison. The event punched a hole in the ultra-controlled space of the prison.

Imarisha makes clear the importance of celebration, even as the ambivalence of the victory was obvious. Only from a perspective of comparative evaluation and paranoid reading is it possible to remind oneself and others that the key point to focus on is that Haramia is still in prison, or that the prison industrial complex is still intact. Only when viewed from a distance, without the investments and connections of those involved, could one think that this celebration is naïve or unfounded. Imarisha spoke to this when we interviewed her:

In a society that fits everything into dichotomy, you win or you lose. There is no space for a win that is attached to a loss. In the case of Haramia KiNassor, whose death sentence was commuted, it was an immense win to have that brotha still with us. And other people were executed that same week by the state of Texas. And his comrade Hasan Shakur who was also my close compañer@ was executed almost a year before to the day. So for me the win and loss of the situation was ever present, breathing together. And it's really hard to hold both of those.[172]

Imarisha's words reveal the capacity to hold on to intensity and ambivalence, without parsing it into a binary between "feeling good" and "feeling bad," or setting optimism against pessimism. To be capable of holding all of this-of wins attached to losses, and joys attached to sorrows-is fundamentally about being affected. It is about inhabiting a world of uncertainty and complexity, about feeling and participating in emergent and collective powers. Joy.

What all of this makes clear to us is that there is no formula for a break with paranoid reading: there is only the discovery and renewal of ways of moving and relating, right where we are, in our own lives. To undo paranoid reading entails more than "being nice" or "not alienating people." It can be about openness to new encounters and putting relationships before ideas. It requires challenging the corrosive tendency that impels us to find lack everywhere, to outmeasure, to out-preach, and to be on guard against mistakes and the unexpected. It entails recovering the capacities to celebrate and to be surprised.

The limits of critique: from paranoia to potential

Radical and incisive critique is an indispensable weapon. In a world where we are enmeshed in forms of subjection, critique can support resistance and transformation. It can be a source of intimate reflection, unpacking things that are already sensed intuitively. By revealing that things have not always been this way, and that they could be different, critique can create wiggle-room for struggle. At the same time, when reduced to a habit, a reflex, or an end in itself, critique can become stifling and paranoid. And, we must admit, pointing to paranoid reading and perfectionism can itself become a new form of paranoia: a critique of critique.

These are the limits of critique. Critique can be helpful for asking how subtle dynamics manifest themselves, or for questioning inherited ways of doing things, but it doesn't necessarily activate capacities to be different with each other.

For this reason, we want to emphasize the potential of affirmative theory, as a complementary power which might help ward off paranoia. We talked to Silvia Federici about this because we have been struck by the way she combines an incisive critique of Empire with an incredible generosity towards movements. Her approach is not about being positive all the time, but about the potential of struggle:

carla and Nick: Another thing that we wanted to talk to you about is the style and tone of intellectual engagement. You have a really militant critique of capitalism, but you're always pointing to inspiring examples in a range of different movements and you seem to reserve critique, in terms of a really pointed attack, for large destructive institutions like the World Bank. So we wanted to ask: is this style something that you've cultivated and that you're intentional about? And maybe more generally, can you talk about the potential of theory in intellectual work today? What makes theory enabling and transformative, and what gets in the way of that?

Federici: It's partially a consequence of growing old. You understand things that when you're younger you didn't see. One thing that I've learned is to be more humble and hold my judgment of people until I know them beyond what I can make out from what they say, realizing that people often say foolish things that they do not really believe or have not seriously thought about.

It also comes from recognizing that we can change, which means that we should stress our potential rather than our limits. One of the most amazing experiences in the women's movement was to see how much we could grow, learning to speak in public, write poetry, make beautiful posters. All this has given me a strong distaste for the impulse to squash everything at the first sign that something is not right.

I've made it a principle not to indulge in speech that is destructive. Striving to speak clearly, not to make people feel like fools because they don't understand what I say, is a good part of it. That's also something I've taken from the women's movement. So many times we had felt humiliated, being in situations where we didn't understand what men had said and didn't have the courage to ask what they meant. I don't want to make other people ever feel this way.[173]

The notion of stressing potential, rather than limits, seems very important to us. This is not just a shift in focus, but a whole different orientation. Limits are often spoken of as if they are fixed, and paranoid reading specializes in locating them and pointing them out. But limits are never fixed. Limits are the always shifting edges of what we are, what we are capable of. To explore potential is to live right at these fluid edges. Affirmative reading is rooted in Spinoza's insight that we do not know in advance what a body-or a movement or struggle-can do. This ignorance is what makes experimentation possible. Potential is the dimension of these unfolding encounters that can never be known beforehand.

To replace paranoid reading with affirmation is about activating a power complementary to critique, without giving up on critical thinking. Reading affirmatively and seeking out potentials can be a way for us to find new resonances and experiment with concepts in new ways. Critique-as the questioning of inherited certainties and habits-might be necessary to remove the obstacles to all this exploration. It might tear apart some of the rigidities that make experimentation difficult. But it can fall into a paranoid search for problems, detached from the immediacy of life and the potential of new encounters. Maybe some paranoia is necessary-just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get you. Maybe it is a question of dosage and mixture, timing and framing, of combining critique and curiosity, wariness and exploration. We are not sure.

Towards new encounters

Wherever they appear, common notions and transformative movements can fall prey to rigid radicalism. The shift can be subtle: what worked in a particular place and time can be converted into a fixed how-to list. A sense of experimentation and vitality can be sucked out of the air with a few words that induce a sense of paranoia and lack-finding. The shared capacity for encounters across difference can be converted into moral certainty and guilt-mongering. What was initially transformative in one context can be held up as the answer, a new duty, or a new set of responsibilities that are imposed on others. This can even manifest as a rigid insistence on autonomy and individual freedom that crushes the potential for collective responsibility and action.

Ethics and uncertainty cannot survive long in an atmosphere of stagnation and rigidity. Detached from the transformative relationships that animate them, common notions become fixed principles dropped on other people's heads. They remain enabling and ethical only insofar as they retain the capacity to activate response-ability: the capacity to ask, over and over again, what might move things here and now, and to really take pause and listen to each other deeply. All of this is to say that ethical attunement, experimentation, and common notions are powerful, fragile, and precious. These sensibilities are already emerging in a lot of places, as people figure out how to sustain and defend joy against the crushing tendencies of both Empire and rigid radicalism.

Paranoid reading, moralism, and ideology aren't going anywhere, and even naming and criticizing them can be ways of slipping into their poisonous grip, giving one a sense of superiority, of being above all those things. The critique of rigid radicalism can manifest as a new way of finding mistakes, or as contempt for places and people (including oneself) where rigid radicalism takes hold. It can become a paranoid critique of paranoia itself: criticism might be helpful to get a little distance from stifling and hurtful dynamics, or in figuring out how they work, but it will not necessarily activate other ways of being. Critiques are no use unless they create openings for joy and experimentation, and for feeling and acting differently. For us, the best way to do this analytically has been to affirm that openings are already happening and always have been, and that it is worth being grateful for these powerful legacies.

In our own experience and in talking to others, becoming otherwise is never a linear passage from one way of being to another, but a slow, uneven, messy process. Sometimes something new emerges only in the wreckage after groups have torn each other apart, or have people "burnt out." Sometimes the flight from paranoid reading flips over into an everything-is-awesome attitude that refuses all forms of discernment and critique. Sometimes people sense that things are not working, find bits of joy, but then rigid radicalism takes over again in another guise. Sometimes a dramatic event leads to new common notions and joyful ways of relating, and rigid radicalism loses its grip. Sometimes people abandon rigid radicalism in favor of an attempt to live a "normal" life under Empire. Sometimes people travel and their encounters leave them changed, more capable of cultivating collective power and experimentation. There is no blueprint, no map for moving in other ways.

In telling these stories, we have tried to avoid generating prescriptions for others, and we hope to have made space for a proliferation of other stories about rigid radicalism, especially those about how and where people have been able to undo it or relate differently. New potentials can be activated by continuing these conversations with each other.

Ultimately, we think, what is at stake in undoing rigid radicalism is joyful transformation: a proliferation of forms of life that cannot be governed by Empire nor stifled by rigid radicalism. To be militant about this is to nurture and defend these shared powers that grow through people's capacities to tune into their own situations, to remain open and experimental, and to recover and invent enabling forms of combat and intimacy.

Outro

This is a book that does not have an ending. It is a definition that negates itself in the same breath. It is a question, an invitation to discuss.[174]

It can be difficult to talk about the ways that radical milieus can be stifling and rigid: how we don't always treat each other well, how we hurt each other, and how shame, rigidity, and competition can creep into the very movements and spaces that are trying to undo all this. Of course there are tangles of despair, resentment, pleasure, and pain. Of course shitty encounters provoke anxieties and frustrations. Of course people bring their scars and fears. In his interview, Glen Coulthard put his finger on something we have carried with us throughout this process, about the way that sadness and anger often stem from love:

I think that for the somber, melancholic militant, I get it. I understand it. How could you not be? And this is my point-the only way you respond to the world like that is because of some base sort of individual and collective self-respect. Some love for oneself and others, or the land, that you see being violated in a profound way. This produces melancholy, anger, whatever. They're not separable. So when we're leveling our critiques, you just have to understand that yeah, it's a rational response to an irrational, violent, unthinking machinery. So how do we direct that in ways that are able to topple these power relationships? And that's when the kind of navel-gazing, defensive, puritanical radical becomes an obstacle, even though they may rightfully be that way, because of the position that they occupy. And the process of redirection comes from community, a community that we aspire towards and is always already there. So that's the question: What do we do with that situation? How do we make that community stronger? I don't know what the answer is, but the question is there, or else we wouldn't be having this conversation. We need it to be there more, with more people.[175]

We have attempted to approach rigid radicalism with care, so that we wouldn't just be finding movements lacking in a whole new way. We have tried to convey a conversation, a set of questions rather than a set of answers. How do we talk about rigid radicalism in a way that doesn't just heap more shit at the feet of those who are already fighting? What can support conversations that provide space to think and feel through all this in milieus and movements? How can we pull each other into other ways of being together?

We have suggested that rigid radicalism is not a solid thing outside of us, but an affective tendency we are amidst. It circulates, constricts, suffocates, recirculates. It brings its own pleasures and rewards. Maybe it is driven in part by a desire to heal.

The real enemy is Empire itself, and rigid radicalism is a poisonous reaction that presents itself as the cure. As such, rigid radicalism is one of the ways that Empire calls forth some desires and attachments and conjures away others, keeping its subjects stuck in a desolate form of life. In the twilight of Empire's legitimacy, it has become more and more difficult to sustain the fantasy that capitalism is good for us, or that elected leaders represent us. Governments announce sustainability initiatives alongside new forms of resource extraction, multiculturalism alongside militarized policing. But Empire doesn't need our faith, only our compliance. As Empire's subjects, we are increasingly fastened to an automated, industrialized infrastructure that consumes and poisons the living world. Through the glow of our screens, we are induced to express ourselves in perpetual performance and collective surveillance. The crisis is not coming: it is already here. It has been here for a long time, and Empire is administering the wreckage. We are permitted to be as cynical and pessimistic as we want, as long as we remain detached from capacities to live and relate differently.

In this sense, Empire cannot be confronted only by inculcating others with the right set of anticapitalist and antistate beliefs. People do not need some special training or education to be capable of transformation. On the contrary, we are constantly trained away from aliveness to change. It is not a question of being right, but of assembling enabling ways of thinking, doing, and feeling in the present. This is most palpable in exceptional situations of disaster and insurrection, when everyday people have a little space from Empire's exhausting anxieties and routines. Amidst a lot of suffering and scarcity, there are upwellings of mutual aid and connection. This is not evidence of some innate altruism. For us, it is evidence that everyone is capable of joyful transformation, and the ongoing disaster is the brutal isolation and exploitation of life organized by Empire. An increase in the capacity to affect and be affected-joy-means being more in touch with a world that is bleeding, burning, screaming.

Transformation might begin with rage, hatred, or sorrow. Refusing to "get over" some things can cut against the grain of obligatory productivity and optimism structuring capitalist life. Shared power might arise from accepting, refusing, hanging on, or letting go. This is the wiggle-room of freedom: not the absence of constraint, or a do-what-you-like individualism, but an emergent capacity to work on relationships, shift desires, and undo ingrained habits.

We believe that close ties of friendship and kinship, far from isolating us into cliques or enclaves, actually enable people to better extend themselves to others and participate in transformative encounters. Close friends and loved ones are what enable us to gripe and vent so that we can be more compassionate and patient with those who don't know us as well. They help us process fears and anxieties so that we are better able to trust people up front and move towards trouble and discomfort. They sit with us when we inevitably fuck up and flail. In turn, transformative struggle can deepen these bonds and generate new ones.

We have suggested that the challenge is not to build a unified consciousness or position, but to find ways of coming together, collaborating, fighting, and discovering shared affinities. This is not about everyone getting along and becoming friends. Vulnerability is important, but also risky, and needs to be selective. As Coulthard said, "Some relationships are just bullshit and we shouldn't be in them. We should actually draw lines in the sand more willingly." Joy needs sharp edges to thrive. How to create spaces, then, where vulnerability can happen and joyful encounters can take place? When to be open, and to what, and how to create and maintain boundaries? What can we do together? How can we support each other? How to create space for consensus and dissensus and difference? How to ward off imperatives to centralize and control things, without creating new divisions and sectarian conflicts? How to ward off rigid radicalism and its attachments to purity and paranoia?

These are all ethical questions that people are exploring rather than answering once and for all. We have suggested that in the space between abstract morality and vapid individualism, common notions can help us remain open and responsive.

In a world of crushing monopolies, where so much is done to us or for us, some people are recovering the capacity to do things for themselves. From barricades to kitchen tables, they are generating collective forms of trust and responsibility. If such forms make people feel alive, if they deepen bonds of trust and love, militancy tends to grow along with them because people are willing to defend these emergent powers. Every moment that people find trust in each other and in their own capacities is precious. Through these messy struggles, people are becoming powerful and dangerous together.

To be militant about joy means forging common notions that can enable, sustain, and deepen transformation here and now, starting from wherever people find themselves. Common notions are not a means to a revolution in the future, but the recovery of people's capacities for autonomy and struggle here and now. This tends towards breaking down old divides between organizing and everyday existence, and opening the question of collective life itself in all its expansiveness. Nurturing common notions means refusing to separate the effectiveness of any tactic or strategy from its affectiveness: how it makes people feel, how it nurtures autonomy or dependence, what it opens up and what it closes down.[176] It means letting go of practices or ideas when they stagnate, and generating new ones together. Rather than fixed values or positions, in common notions we find ways of doing, thinking, and feeling that sustain the growth of shared power.

With the concept of joyful militancy, we have tried to affirm these other ways of being without pretending that we have discovered the answer to undoing Empire, warding off rigid radicalism, or ushering in some world revolution. There is no single answer. We have tried to avoid setting up joyful militancy as a new ideal to embody, or a set of duties. It would be disappointing if the notion of joyful militancy ever became a handbook for transformation because it lives in questions, experiments, and openings-not answers, blueprints, or necessities.

Three modes of attunement

We think people's militancy and autonomy-their capacity to grapple with oppression, to break from comfort and certainty in favor of risk, to maintain forms of life that do not reproduce the state and capitalism-depend on participation in transformative struggles. With this in mind, we are interested in capacities to tune into transformative potential.

One mode of attunement involves increasing sensitivity and inhabiting situations more fully. It is in this sense that Amador Fernandez-Savater suggests that the revolutionary alternative to control consists in "learning to fully inhabit, instead of governing, a process of change. Letting yourself be affected by reality, to be able to affect it in turn. Taking time to grasp the possibles that open up in this or that moment." What if the capacity to be really present is revolutionary? What potentials can be unleashed by connecting with the immediate, in a world that encourages constant distraction, deferral, and numbness?

Crucially, this attunement is not a new form of optimism, or a newfound faith that things will get better, but something open-ended and dangerous. This capacity to be present, what adrienne maree brown called "being awake inside your life in real time," includes more of the messy multiplicities that we are: trauma, triggers, and brilliance. Joy is not the same as optimism. It is not happy, nor does it promise a future revolution. In fact, being present might be a way of tuning into the cruelty and self-destruction of certain optimistic attachments.[177]

A second form of attunement comes through the capacity to connect with legacies of resistance, rebellion, and the struggles of the past. As Silvia Federici explained when we interview her, this is a pushing-back against the social amnesia imposed by Empire:

What most matters is discovering and recreating the collective memory of past struggles. In the US there is a systematic attempt to destroy this memory and now this is extending across the world, with the destruction of the main historical centers of the Middle East-a form of dispossession that has major consequences and yet is rarely discussed. Reviving the memory of the struggles of the past makes us feel part of something larger than our individual lives and in this way it gives a new meaning to what we are doing and gives us courage, because it makes us less afraid of what can happen to us individually.[178]

Reviving legacies of struggle can be a source of dignity and inspiration amidst forces that seem implacable. In this sense, transformation is not about the modern vision of shucking off traditions and escaping the past. History can also help us tune into the ongoingness of antagonisms that Empire has attempted to relegate to the past. It can help us see and feel the ways that Empire's institutions have been resisted since their inception.

As cis-gendered white folks, we have a lot to learn from Black folks, Indigenous people, people of color, and queer and trans folks who have long resisted Empire's violence while nurturing alternatives. There is also a lot to be learned from others whose knowledge and capacities continue to be devalued, and whose existence entails resistance; for us that often means looking to the kids in our lives and community for guidance and inspiration. We have suggested that we all have the capacity to recover our own traditions and engage in our own struggles (rather than appropriating others') and to explore affinities between them, in ways that challenge and undo the interconnected violences of Empire.

A final mode of attunement to potential is gratitude and celebration. Especially among white, secular radicals, gratitude is often seen as a "hippie" value: something associated with New Age gurus and self-help manuals that insist that positive thinking can overcome any obstacle. Gratitude and celebration are often seen as superfluous, or even counterproductive, as if feeling grateful requires turning away from the horrors of Empire or losing the desire for change. But as Walidah Imarisha suggested, celebration or gratitude can mean holding wins attached to losses, and letting them breathe together. Grief can be attached to gratitude, pleasure to pain, and celebration to determination. Similarly, Zainab Amadahy emphasizes the power of gratitude to renew our connection to the forces that sustain life, among human and non-human relationships:

You can be thankful and still want the world to be better; want your life to be better. At the same time, I don't think it's healthy to be grateful in every moment. Sometimes grief, sadness, or fear is the appropriate and healthy response. But when the crisis has passed or it's a chronic situation, focusing one's attention on what there is to be grateful for literally eases the pain-physical, mental, and emotional.[179]

Throughout this project we have tried to center relationships in a process of walking with questions. The book has morphed and changed in significant ways as we listened and were challenged by friends and each other. Leaving space for emergence and uncertainty was frustrating, inspiring, difficult, and ultimately generative of a messy, joyful process.

With this in mind, we want to share our gratitude to all those who are resisting and undoing Empire starting from their own situations. Thank you to those who are leaning into the uncertain work of transformation. Thank you to those who are fiercely defending the people and places they love. Thank you to those who are keeping their own traditions and forms of life alive and dangerous amid forces seeking to annihilate and absorb them.

Thank you to everyone who is part of this book. Thank you to those we interviewed, who encouraged us and challenged us to think in new ways. Thank you to everyone who has been part of this conversation informally, and supported us and offered insights and care. Thank you to our readers for your curiosity, your critical engagement, and your capacity to cultivate joy.

Appendix 1: Feeling Powers Growing-An Interview with Silvia Federici

January 18, 2016

Silvia Federici: My politics resonate with your idea of "joyful militancy." I'm a strong believer that either your politics is liberating and that gives you joy, or there's something wrong with them.

I've gone through phases of "sad politics " myself and I've learned to identify the mistakes that generate it. It has many sources. But one factor is the tendency to exaggerate the importance of what we can do by ourselves, so that we always feel guilty for not accomplishing enough.

When I was thinking about this conversation, I was reminded of Nietzsche's metamorphoses in Thus Spoke Zarathustra and his image of the camel. The camel is the prototype of the militant who burdens herself with huge amounts of work, because she thinks that the destiny of the world depends on her overwork. Inevitably she's always saddened because the goal is always receding and she does not have the time to be fully present to her life and recognize the transformative possibilities inherent to her work.

Nick and carla: You said that you feel like there are so many sources to sad militancy[‡] and can you speak to some more of those?

Federici: Sad militancy comes from setting goals that you cannot achieve, so that the outcome is always out of reach, always projected into the future and you feel continuously defeated. "Sad politics " is also defining your struggle in purely oppositional terms, which puts you in a state of permanent tension and failure. A joyful politics is a politics that is constructive and prefigurative. I'm encouraged by the fact that more people today see that you cannot continuously postpone the achievement of your goals to an always receding future.

Joyful politics is politics that change your life for the better already in the present. This is not to deny that political engagement often involves suffering. In fact our political involvement often is born of suffering. But the joy is knowing and deciding that we can do something about it, it is recognizing that we share our pain with other people, is feeling the solidarity of those around us. Militants in Argentina speak of "politicizing our sadness."

This is why I don't believe in the concept of "self-sacrifice," where self-sacrifice means that we do things that go against our needs, our desires, our potentials, and for the sake of political work we have to repress ourselves. This has been a common practice in political movements in the past. But it is one that produces constantly dissatisfied individuals. Again, what we do may lead to suffering, but this may be preferable to the kind of self-destruction we would have faced had we remained inactive.

The inability to make politics a rewarding experience is part of the reason why, I think, the radical Left has been unsuccessful in attracting large numbers of people. Here too we are beginning to learn however. I see that many young militants today are recognizing the importance of building community, of organizing activities that are pleasurable, that build trust and affective relations, like eating together for instance. It is not an accident that Indigenous peoples' movements in Latin America give so much importance to the organization of events like the fiestas.

Nick and carla: We wanted to ask you specifically about the feminist movement and what are some of the ways that feminists and other movements have struggled with sad militancy in the past. We're thinking of Jo Freeman's essay on "trashing" from the '70s, where she talks about real tendencies to destroy relationships within the feminist movement.[180] In one of the interviews that you've done, you mention "truculent forms of behavior that were typical of the movement in the '60s" and that you see new forms of kindness and care emerging that maybe were absent back then. So we wanted to ask you about how things have changed from your perspective, and whether you see a connection between trashing and what is now called call-out culture in contemporary movements.

Federici: When I wrote about truculent behavior, I was thinking of relations in the male Left and male-dominated organizations, where you found a lot of protagonism and peacock-like competition, as well as a manipulation of women, sexual and otherwise. These were among the factors that motivated the rise of the women's liberation movement. Not only women's demands were pushed off the agenda, but everyday relations were often degrading for them.

A good description of women's lives in male-dominated organizations is Marge Piercy's "The Grand Coolie Dam,"[181] where she powerfully describes the many forms of subordination women suffered in male-dominated groups. In comparison, the organizational forms the women's movement adopted were a major improvement. Possibly feminists moved too far in the opposite direction. I am thinking of Jo Freeman's critique of the "tyranny of structurelessness."[182] But she's excessively critical of the feminist movement. I don't agree that feminists were especially prone to trashing each other. The attack on leadership, for instance, though it often worked against people's capacity to express themselves, also opened the way to more egalitarian relations-like ensuring that everyone would have a change to speak in a meeting. The resistence against women getting credit for authoring articles or speaking too much in public was a legacy of the experiences we had made in male-dominated organizations. In time, it is a fear that most women left behind, as they felt more confident in their own powers.

Some of the bitterness that you find in Jo Freeman comes perhaps from the fact that, when we joined the women's movement, many of us believed that we had reached a sort of paradise. As I wrote in "Putting Feminism On Its Feet," when I began to work with other women I truly felt that I had found my home, my tribe.[183] We thought that we had reached a place where everything would be harmonious; where there would be love, care, reciprocity, equality, cooperation-sisterhood as we called it. So we dis-activated our critical thinking and left our defenses down. Unfortunately, we didn't reach paradise, and the disappointment was especially severe because we assumed that in the women's movement we would find happiness, or at least we would not encounter the kind of jealousies, power plays, and power relations we had experienced with men.

Spinoza speaks of Joy as coming from Reason and Understanding. But we forgot that all of us bear on our bodies and minds the marks of life in a capitalist society. We forgot that we came to the feminist movement with many scars and fears. We would feel devalued and easily take offense if we thought we were not properly valued. It was a jealousy that came from poverty, from fear of not being given our due. This also led some women to be possessive about what they had done, what they had written or said.

These are all the classical problems and distortions that life in a capitalist society creates. Over time you learn to identify them, but at first, many of us were devastated by them. For me coping with this realization has been an important learning process. But I have also seen women leaving the movement because they were so deeply hurt by it.

On the other hand, the feminist movement, because it stressed the importance of sharing experiences and engaging in a collective examination of our everyday lives and problems, gave us important tools to deal with this situation. Through "consciousness-raising" and the refusal to separate politics from our everyday reproduction it created forms of organization that built trust and showed that our strength was rooted in our mutual solidarity.

I found a vision in the women's movement that allowed me to overcome some bitter experiences and over time insulated me from disappointment. I see politics now as a process of transformation; a process by which we learn to better ourselves, shed our possessiveness and discard the petty squabbles that so much poison our lives.

I think that this has been a collective experience that has left a mark on other organizations as well. It seems to me that, over the last two or three decades, the women's movement has been the most important influence on the organizational forms of most radical movements. You don't find today, on a general level, the kind of behavior that was common among men thirty or forty years ago, not at least among the new generations, although there is still a good amount of machismo around. But you also have men who genuinely want to be feminist, and define themselves as anti-patriarchal, or organize against male supremacy-all unthinkable stands-with few exceptions-in the '60s.

carla: I have all these questions! There seems to be some kind of paradox in this: that joy is about feelings and relationships, but not just an individual feeling. And while we want to speak to the power of joy, it can't be turned into a commandment, and in fact it gets lost when it becomes something imposed on people. But it also can't be about just feeling happy or feeling good, or being okay with the way things are. It feels like a little bit of a paradox and I haven't figured out how to think that through. A lot of my activism over the years has been around youth liberation and working with children having more of a say, and getting that form of oppression into the discussion and into activist spaces, and my work was very centered around that in a public way. I don't want to replicate individualism in liberation; I want it to always be connected to the larger systems and social struggles. But it also needs to be about thriving right now, because they're kids! And when things were working well it seemed that there was a lot of room for freedom and growth but it was held and felt collectively, without a bunch of rules or norms. There was happiness, sure, but also difficulty and a willingness to work through it. So it feels like a constant paradox to work through joy ...

Federici: I like the distinction between happiness and joy. Like you, I like joy because it is an active passion. It's not a static state of being. And it's not satisfaction with things as they are. It's part of feeling powers and capacities growing within yourself and in the people around you. It's a feeling, a passion, that comes from a process of transformation and growth. It does not mean that you're satisfied with your situation. It means, again using Spinoza, that you're active in accordance to what your understanding tells you to do and what is required by the situation. So you feel that you have the power to change and feel yourself changing through what you're doing, together with other people. It's not a form of acquiescence to what exists.

Nick and carla: We've found your concept of the accumulation of divisions really compelling, and the ways you're centering how capitalism is always using white supremacy, patriarchy, colonization, and other oppressive hierarchies to create divisions and enable exploitation. Your historicization of those divisions is powerful, because you show how the state and capitalism have deepened and entrenched patriarchy and racism as a strategy to stop resistance and enable more intense exploitation. And for us, in this book we really want to center the importance of rebuilding trust and connection and solidarity across those divisions, while leaving space for difference and autonomy. One of the things that we like about your work is that you don't jump to a simple unity-that overcoming these divisions doesn't look like a simple unity. And so we wanted to ask you to talk about that a little more. Is there a distinction between divisions, which are hierarchical and exploitative, and differences, which might be something else? And can you talk about the positive horizon you see for resisting the accumulation of divisions while warding off a kind of homogenizing unity?

Federici: Yes, the distinction between differences and divisions is important. When I speak of "divisions" I speak of differences that carry hierarchies, inequalities, and have a divisive power. So, we need to be very clear when we speak of "differences." Not all should be celebrated.

The lesson we learned in the '60s from the women's movement and the Black Power movement is that the most effective way to respond to unequal relations is for those who have less social power to organize autonomously. This does not exclude the possibility of coming together for particular struggles. But in a society divided along racial and gender lines, unity is a goal to be achieved, not something that can be assumed to already exist. Organizational autonomy, or at least the construction of autonomous spaces within mixed organizations-as it often happens in Latin America-is a necessary condition to subvert these divisions. The women's movement could not have developed the understanding of the situation of women that it developed if women had remained in male-dominated organizations. It was crucial for women to move away from these organizations to even begin to think about their problems and share their thoughts with each other.

You cannot think of a problem, give voice to it, share it with others, if you fear that you will be dismissed, ridiculed, or told that it is not important. Moreover, how could women have spoken of sexuality and their relations with men in front of them? And how could Black militants speak openly of their experience of racism in front of white people?

Autonomy within movements that are working toward unity but are traversed by power relations is fundamental. A crucial reality would have remained hidden if the feminist movement had not organized autonomously and this is also true of the Black Power movement. Important areas and forms of exploitation would have continued to be unnoticed; would not have been analyzed and denounced and would have continued to be reproduced.

Nick and carla: You often point to Latin America and other places where the social fabric is much stronger in general, and movements are a lot more capable of reproducing themselves and meeting their own needs, relying less on the state and capital. The maintenance of communal and cooperative forms of life seems to be central to the capacity for sustained struggle and resistance. Can you elaborate on all this?

Federici: I went to Nigeria in the '80s and one of the big surprises for me was to discover that large amounts of land were still managed communally. That doesn't mean that in communal land regimes relationships are necessarily egalitarian. Generally men have more power than women; but until recently they could not sell the land. Clearly these communal regimes have gone through many changes, especially because of colonial domination. But the fact that communal ownership has been widespread in Africa until at least the nineteenth century and, in some regions, continues even today, has had a deep impact on relationships and people, which is why I believe so much violence has been and is necessary to privatize the land and the continent's immense natural resources.

It's the same thing in Latin America. In Mexico, in the 1930s, during the government of Lázaro Cárdenas, some land was returned to indigenous communities that had been expropriated by colonial invasion. Today the Mexican government is trying to re-privatize everything, but until recently at least thirty percent of the country's land was still held communally.

Again, this is not a guarantee of egalitarian relations. Women in these communities are coming forward, criticizing the patriarchal relations often prevailing within them. A good example are the Zapatista women. As you can read in Hilary Klein's book Compañeras, many of the transformations that have taken place in Zapatista communities, like the application of the Revolutionary Law On Women, have been the product of the struggle that women have made against patriarchalism. But communal land regimes guarantee the reproduction of the communities that live on the land.

Today many of these communities are facing dispossession because of land privatization, deforestation, the loss of water to irrigate their milpas. But when they are forced out and come to the cities, they still act as a collectivity. They take over land though collective action, they build encampments, and take decision collectively. As a result, in many cities of Latin America, new communities have formed that from their beginning were built collectively. It appears that the narcos now try to infiltrate some of these communities. But when people take over the land and cooperate to build their houses, to build the streets, to fight with the government to connect the electricity and get water pipes, there is a good chance that that they will be able to respond to this threat, and you can see that there's a new social reality emerging in these communities.

As Raúl Zibechi often points out, something new is emerging in these communities because they have had to invent new forms of life, without any pre-existing model, and politicize the everyday process of their reproduction.[184] When you work together, building houses, building streets, building structures that provide some immediate form of healthcare-just to give some examples-you are making life-choices, as all of them come with a high cost. You must fight the state, fight the police, the local authorities. So you have to develop tight relations with each other and always measure the value of all things.

Nick and carla: Following up on that, part of what we are curious about is how we can learn from places where, in general, the degree of politicization is higher and the social fabric is much stronger. What kind of lessons can North American-based organizers draw from this for organizing in our own communities? How can people in the global North learn from all of the vibrant struggles and forms of life in Latin America while being attentive to differences in context at the same time?

Federici: This is a discussion that is taking place in New York. People in the social movements who are inspired by the struggles in Latin America are now thinking in terms of territorial politics, the territory being a place where you have some form of collective control and even self-government. Clearly, the situation in the US is profoundly different. But thinking in terms of territory enables us to see that the neighborhoods in which we live are not neutral spaces, they are not just conglomerates of houses and people. They are very politically structured. In New York, for instance, since the '70s, there's been a process of "spatial de-concentration," whereby every neighborhood has been studied by local and federal authorities to figure out how to better control the movement of people and guarantee that the wrong people do not go to certain neighborhoods. Subway lines, bus lines, playgrounds have been restructured, to make sure that poor people cannot easily go to places of wealth.

So looking at our neighborhoods as "territories" in this case means recognizing those factors of tension, of crisis, those power relations that traverse them that divide people but can also bring them together. The social centers that have opened in recent years in New York are attempting to do that, trying to engage in practices that create "territory," that is, create forms of aggregation. Building more collective forms of reproduction is a key aspect of this process. It is indispensable if we want to create "communities of resistance," spaces where people are connected and can engage in some collective decision-making.

Nick and carla: Maybe one thing to follow up on this. In that question you talked about the forgotten impacts of really subtle things like architecture, planning, and in Caliban and the Witch you talk about the forgotten impacts of the witch hunts, and how those impacts are still with us today. Are there underappreciated movements of joy and transformation where we haven't fully appreciated the impacts?

Federici: There are so many movements. The Suffragette movement, for example, is always portrayed as a bourgeois movement, but I'm discovering that it had a working-class dimension as well. But rather than thinking of particular movements, what most matters is discovering and recreating the collective memory of past struggles. In the US there is a systematic attempt to destroy this memory and now this is extending across the world, with the destruction of the main historical centers of the Middle East-a form of dispossession that has major consequences and yet is rarely discussed. Reviving the memory of the struggles of the past makes us feel part of something larger than our individual lives and in this way it gives a new meaning to what we are doing and gives us courage, because it makes us less afraid of what can happen to us individually.

Nick and carla: Another thing that we wanted to talk to you about is the style and tone of intellectual engagement. Your style is so generous, and you have a really militant critique of capitalism, but you're always pointing to examples in a range of different movements and you seem to reserve really pointed attacks for large destructive institutions like the World Bank. It seems to us that this differs from a lot of radical critique today, which can be very focused on exposing complicities or limitations, talking about the ways that movements are lacking, that they haven't yet reached this or that, as well as targeting individuals. So we wanted to ask: Is this style something that you've cultivated and that you're intentional about, and maybe more generally, can you talk about the potential of theory in intellectual work today, and what joyful theory might look like? What makes theory enabling and transformative, and what gets in the way of that?

Federici: It's partially a consequence of growing old. You understand things that when you're younger you didn't see. One thing that I've learned is to be more humble and to hold my judgment of people until I know them beyond what I can make out from what they say, realizing that people often say foolish things that they do not really believe or have not seriously thought about.

It also comes from recognizing that we can change, which means that we should stress our potential rather than our limits. One of the most amazing experiences in the women's movement was to see how much we could grow, learning to speak in public, write poetry, make beautiful posters. All this has given me a strong distaste for the impulse to squash everything at the first sign that something is not right.

I've made it a principle not to indulge in speech that is destructive. Striving to speak clearly, not to make people feel like fools because they don't understand what I say, is a good part of it. That's also something I've taken from the women's movement. So many times we had felt humiliated, being in situations where we didn't understand what men had said, and didn't have the courage to ask what they meant. I don't want to make other people ever feel this way.

Nick and carla: You're really good at that! One of the things we were talking about this morning is the question of identity and a lot of the critiques of sad militancy that we have read really make identity into the problem quite a bit more than we would want to. We're trying to think through how to speak to the power of identity and experience while also pointing to power of transformation and working across difference, and how the two of those aren't antithetical in the way they're sometimes set up, that they're crucial for each other.

Federici: I think the critique of identity has taken on dimensions that are not always justified. What people often criticize as identity is actually the position that a person has had in the capitalist organization of work. For example, is being a housewife an identity? Yes, it's an identity, but it is also a particular place in the capitalist organization of work, like being a miner, it's also a particular form of exploitation. Identity is often used in a way that hides that exploitation. That's when it becomes problematic.

Moreover, behind identity there's also a history of struggle and resistance to exploitation. Identity can be a signpost for a whole history of struggle. When I say I am a feminist, for instance, I consciously connect myself to history of struggle that women have made. Identities can be mutable as well. "Woman," for example, is not a fixed identity. The concept of woman has undergone a tremendous change over the last fifty years.

The problem has been the wedding of "identity" with the politics of rights, as when we speak of women's rights, Indigenous peoples' rights, as if each group were entitled to a packet of entitlements, but in isolation from each other, so that we lose sight of the commonalities and the possibility of a common struggle.

Nick and carla: That's really helpful. Our last question is about hope. Spinoza himself is pretty wary of hope, but he sees it as quite future-oriented: to hope is also to fear, because you're attached to a future object or outcome. More generally hope is often equated with a naïve optimism: it can become fixated on a certain outcome. But in one of your interviews,[185] you talked about it as something that's a lot more open-ended. It's more the sense that we can do something. Do you think that hope is necessarily attached to a vision of the future?

Federici: Hope is positive if it is an active passion; but only if it does not replace the work necessary to make our action successful.

Silvia Federici is an Italian activist and author of many works, including Caliban and the Witch and Revolution at Point Zero: Housework, Reproduction, and Feminist Struggle. She was co-founder of the International Feminist Collective and organizer with the Wages for Housework Campaign in the '70s. She was a member of the Midnight Notes Collective.

Appendix 2: Breaking Down the Walls around Each Other-An Interview with Kelsey Cham C.

Kelsey Cham C. is a former collective member of the Purple Thistle who worked with carla as a youth at the Thistle.

Nick and carla: One of the things we're trying to think through with the notion of sad militancy is the way that Empire gets smuggled into radical movements in spaces through mistrust, fear, rigidity, shame, competition, and so on ... but we want to think this through without blaming individuals. It's not about individual feelings or behaviors; it's about ways of relating that are coming out of this system.

Kelsey: Yeah, we're recreating it.

Nick and carla: Yeah, and we're interested in talking to people that seem to be able to tap into something different, and I think you do that.

Kelsey: (laughs) I'm glad you think so.

Nick and carla: I guess the first question is: does this resonate, does this description of sad militancy make sense to you?

Kelsey: Yeah, it's funny because I don't use those terms, but I find myself in situations where we're having conversations about the exact same things, but with many different folks who are politically aware and trying to create change. It is really hard to not fall into sad militancy; I catch myself being overly critical of either myself or other people in their efforts to organize and create something better and new, or something that's never been done before. It's frustrating, and I find myself asking "why is this happening, this constant critique?" It's totally internalized capitalist patriarchal shit.

I think it's connected to perfectionism and the desire to do things "the right way" that becomes a part of us-it's hard to not recreate that when that's how you grew up and have learned that this is what's true.

Nick and carla: So what do you think made you get to a place where you're able to catch yourself and do something else?

Kelsey: That's a really good question ... well, all those things are super isolating. Most people in this culture have experienced that pretty in-depth in their personal lives. I have, and when I'm critical of myself or other people, I try to strive for something that doesn't exist, I'm always unhappy and I get frustrated, I get angry, I can get violent ... those are things that aren't productive.

I don't know, I don't know if there's one specific thing; I don't even know if I'm very good at being joyfully militant or whatever. I think my background in karate has helped, though ... And basically recognizing that we're all in this together and we all have a common goal, and making efforts to love each other-not just tolerate each other-but actually see how we can feel love for everyone to some degree. I think we're capable-maybe that's naïve or whatever-but I think we're capable of doing that ... that's probably arguable too.

Nick and carla: Do you think there are things that make rigidity or sad militancy spread?

Kelsey: Yeah for sure, I think people get sucked into stuff, right? I found myself going back to what's comfortable. If I'm part of a group and people start hating on a certain thing in a way, I think it's easy for me to get caught up in that. It's something that I try to catch myself doing and recognize that's not how I feel at all ... it's old patterns coming up again, and when you're in new situations it's easy for those patterns to come out.

Nick and carla: Have you seen spaces, conversations, or practices shift from joyful militancy to sad militancy, or vice versa?

Kelsey: Yes, I would say so. I think I've seen spaces where everything has ups and downs, and people have ups and downs-going from sad to joyful to sad again-it's exciting and then a key person leaves, or a project falls through, or maybe people are not happy with the way that everyone is contributing ... sometimes that energy falls or maybe people lose interest.

But sometimes I can shift the energy of an entire crew of people ... I find that usually, when people are able to recognize that we're all in this together and it's not a battle against each other. I think that's usually what it is: having that foundation of common vision or goals or whatever. And usually there's someone who is able to be joyful ... in the same way that sad militancy is contagious, joy is also contagious; people get excited by new energy.

Nick and carla: What do you think encourages and sustains joyful militancy?

Kelsey: I dunno ... I'm pretty new to this whole way of being I guess, but I think humility is a huge part of it, and also community credit-"we did that together"-and celebrating tiny accomplishments can be really awesome; celebrating each other's accomplishments, and respecting that stuff. I think part of the sad militancy-just to go back to how it catches on-is because I think in our society we learn to be overly critical and perfectionist ... it's so easy to criticize people's work and what they're doing without recognizing what they're trying to do and what they're actually accomplishing. At the same time, criticism can be a gift for everyone involved when it's about learning and figuring things out together.

Nick and carla: So it's not even that criticism equals sad militancy; is there a way to do criticism that can be joyful?

Kelsey: Oh, totally. I was just talking about this with a friend the other day. I think it's important to talk to people about how they receive criticism and how they would want to, or if they even can safely, I guess. But for me I think it's really, really, really awesome when people give me feedback and constructive criticism in a respectful way; even if it's in a non-respectful way, I'll take it, I might be angry about it, it might make me irritable or hate on something, but I'll absorb it as well. All criticisms are gifts because they're perspectives that I probably didn't have before and I can work with. And I acknowledge that I can't make everyone happy and that's not what I'm trying to do. I want to be as inclusive as possible with the work that I'm doing, but there's no way that every single person is gonna be super stoked about it. And to receive criticism I also need to have a positive feedback system, where it's like: if I receive 10 things I'm doing so-called "wrong," it will make me feel like I'm not doing anything right, and I don't know what to keep and what to change. It's like if you're playing cards and you think I'm just gonna fold and leave every time. But probably there are some things I should keep, so positive feedback is also really important.

carla and Nick: We want to talk about the importance of trust, and the radical potential of trust, without turning trust into some commandment. Does this resonate? Can you talk about the potential of trusting folks up front, and how you saw it play out at the Thistle?

Kelsey: Yeah totally, I think that's awesome. Actually I think you [carla] were one of the first people to actually trust me without even knowing me. And I was like what the hell? Why? Why? How do you know I'm not gonna just fuck everything up and run away and steal a bunch of money and go? How do you know that? But in trusting me, I was like, holy shit: I trust this situation and this collective twenty times more and I want to give back to it because I've been given this opportunity to do something that I've never been able to do before, which is awesome.

But I have been thinking about trust and how with trauma we build all these walls and we start to mistrust everything. I have a pretty hard time trusting people. There's a point where I'm like, this is too personal and too intimate and now my walls are going to go up. I was sitting and thinking about how it's probably one of the best ways to break down the walls of the system is to break down the walls around each other first, and I think that requires trust.

Joyful Militancy and trust, and compassion, and humility are all tied together, I think: in other cultures, traditional cultures-I don't know a lot about this-but from what I know, older Indigenous cultures have these ideas of respect, humility, compassion, and I think in karate I've seen it and it's interesting because karate is a martial art, a fighting tool, and one of the things that we learn is that we have to love everyone including our opponents. And that's the toughest thing to say in this community. People are like "what the fuck, how can you say that, you can't just love your abuser." And it's true, I can't just let go of everything. It's not that; it's being compassionate, I think, to situations.

carla and Nick: What makes it hard to nurture trust? What's been your experience with trust in your everyday? And in radical spaces?

Kelsey: I feel like trauma is the biggest hurdle for me. From what I see happening around me and my own self, a lot of people-not everyone-but a lot of people who are politically involved and radical are there because they're the short stick: they've been oppressed and traumatized. That's often what leads people to these ideas and values, maybe? Well, for me that's true ... but I think when we lose trust in anything-either family, or relationships, or the system that we're part of-we build walls to protect ourselves. And it takes a lot of work to break down those walls, and we need to trust, and when you're trying to defend yourself all the time, and you don't trust anything, it's like a sad circle-a catch-22-and that's what I've seen go on. It's not just about organizing in the community, it's not just about unlearning belief systems; it's also unlearning ways of being in ourselves and that takes a lot of work and a lot of that shit nobody wants to look at or bring up again. And I know a lot of people are like, "this thing keeps coming up and I'm blocking it because it's too scary." And I think that that's keeping us isolated and rigid.

carla and Nick: So there's like a comfort and safety in remaining rigid, skeptical, untrusting?

Kelsey: There is! This whole world is based on fucking misery and to be joyful is scary because it's kind of unknown. In capitalist systems, we're not meant to feel joy; I think it's about domination and power and gaining respect by taking part, but it has nothing to do with joy. Even now, I feel like people judge me for being too positive and too happy; people think I'm way younger than I am often because of my attitude; they're like "why aren't you bitter yet?" It's really interesting because it's scary to feel new things and not know where they're going to take you.

carla and Nick: Can we have the expectation of trust up front? Do you think there's an alternative to the idea that trust always needs to be earned?

Kelsey: It's so hard in our society: you gotta earn everything; you earn money, you build trust, and respect. You gotta prove to me that I should trust you, or respect you. And that's an interesting point; I have a tough time with that, trusting people. But I think it's a feedback system: probably the more you allow yourself to trust people initially, probably the more well-reciprocated that will be. I felt it: you trust me and I didn't understand it. That's how fucked up our system is. Even though I didn't do anything wrong, or to harm you, I didn't understand how someone could trust me without knowing me first.

Nick and carla: There's this perception that all this stuff-trust, curiosity, uncertainty, joy-is naïve: if you're joyful or trusting you probably just don't understand what's going on, or how bad things are. And with that, there's a perception that only people who are super privileged have the capacity to be joyful. How do you think about joyful militancy and trust in relation to privilege and oppression?

Kelsey: I think some of the most joyful people I've met are not coming from privileged backgrounds. I don't think it's true that only privileged people can be joyful. It's a blanket statement and it's also kind of really oppressive and ignorant to say, I think. I think that's harsh for me to say, but I think that there's a lot of people and friends that are coming from privileged backgrounds are some of the most rigid people and the most isolated. They don't feel at ease and they're not comfortable, they're guilty. A lot of privilege makes it difficult to learn how to work cooperatively. But I've seen the effectiveness and power-I don't mean power like people who dominate-I mean power like the energy that comes from compassion and love and real collective work and humility. Humility's such a huge one.

It's part of our society to discount that all that as naïve. Naïve is inexperience-what is inexperience? It comes from an ageist perspective: you're young, you only think like this because you're young; you haven't experienced enough. Actually some of the youngest people-kids-are often the most connected and able to absorb and create. It is ageist to associate joyfulness with naïveté. Maybe that's super harsh to say but I think it comes from our society's idea of what it means to be an adult, a youth, a child. Those systems are in place to keep us fuckin' stagnant, and to keep kids stagnant and devalued and powerless.

carla and Nick: Yeah that's a useful way for us to think about it because it's easy to make all this into another set of norms: "just be this way." It's hard to talk about this in other ways, maybe because part of rigid militancy and activist-speak is constantly prescribing behaviors, and it's easy to hear joyful militancy as another prescription.

Kelsey: Maybe it's not a prescription, it is a practice ... I'm excited because I've been having these conversations with friends. I think it's really awesome that you're really intentionally introducing this. Because I think probably the amount of work it must have taken you (carla) to just start off trusting people is a fuck-load, probably ... and I'm realizing how important it is to share that ... once we have something, we can share it with younger folks so that they don't have to go through the same struggles to get to these points. I feel like what I'm learning is probably at a way earlier stage in my life than when you probably learned it. And I'll be able to pass that on to the kids in my life when they're way younger, like four or five, starting to introduce these ideas, and they won't have to face the same struggles again, and we can go deeper, and it's exciting.

Kelsey Cham C. is a community organizer and settler of Chinese and Irish descent. Being involved with projects like the Purple Thistle has brought them depth and insight into trying to understand what the hell is going on in the world. Kelsey is focused on organizing experiential learning projects with youth and adults in gardening, mycology, fermentation, and "ki" (chi) based karate.

Appendix 3: Further Reading

Though we have used direct quotes and endnotes as a way to acknowledge our intellectual debts and sources throughout the book, we often found ourselves wanting to include more of the currents and perspectives that have shaped this work. With that in mind, we have assembled some articles, zines, books, films, interviews, and stories for those who want to go further with some of the ideas explored in each chapter, providing links to online versions where possible. This list is diverse, and elements of these texts are in tension with each other and our own work, and we think they are all worth approaching in the spirit of critical and affirmative reading. We also recommend checking out work by everyone we interviewed and cited, and we are planning to create a fuller list on our website: joyfulmilitancy.com

Chapter 1: Empire, Militancy, Joy

Zainab Amadahy, Wielding the Force: The Science of Social Justice, Smashwords Edition, 2013 (non-fiction book).

Anonymous, "The Tyranny of Imagery, or, How To Escape the Zoopraxiscope," Hostis 2, 2016 (essay).

adrienne maree brown and Walidah Imarisha, eds., Octavia's Brood: Science Fiction Stories from Social Justice Movements, AK Press 2015 (collected short fiction).

Colectivo Situaciones, "On the Researcher Militant," 2003 (essay), http://eipcp.net/transversal/0406/colectivosituaciones/en.

Silvia Federici, Caliban and the Witch: Women, the Body, and Primitive Accumulation, Autonomedia, 2004 (non-fiction book).

John Holloway, Change the World Without Taking Power, Pluto Press, 2005 (non-fiction book).

Audre Lorde, Sister Outsider, Crossing Press, 1984 (collected essays).

Brian Massumi, "Navigating Movements" interviewed by Mary Zournazi, https://archive.org/stream/InterviewWithBrianMassumi/intmassumi_djvu.txt.

P. M. bolo'bolo, Autonomedia, 1985 (non-fiction book), http://sfbay-anarchists.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/bb_3.pdf.

Stevphen Shukaitis, Imaginal Machines: Autonomy & Self-Organization in the Revolutions of Everyday Life, Minor Compositions, 2009 (non-fiction book), http://www.minorcompositions.info/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/ImaginalMachines-web.pdf.

Chapter 2: Friendship, Freedom, Ethics

Taiaiake Alfred, Wasase: Indigenous Pathways of Action and Freedom, University of Toronto Press, 2005 (non-fiction book).

Anonymous, "Robot Seals as Counter-Insurgency: Friendship and Power from Aristotle to Tiqqun (blog post), https://humanstrike.wordpress.com/2013/08/27/robot-seals-as-counter-insurgency-friendship-and-power-from-aristotle-to-tiqqun/.

Richard Day, Gramsci is Dead: Anarchist Currents in the Newest Social Movements, Between the Lines, 2005 (non-fiction book).

Elena Ferrante, My Brilliant Friend, Europa, 2012 (novel).

Knowing the Land is Resistance, "Towards an Anarchist Ecology" (blog post/zine), https://knowingtheland.com/2014/01/28/new-zine-collecting-towards-and-anarchist-ecology/.

Maria Mies, Patriarchy and Accumulation on a World Scale: Women in the International Division of Labour, Zed Books, 2014 (non-fiction book).

Leanne Betasamosake Simpson, " Decolonial Love: Building Resurgent Communities of Connection," 2014 (video recorded talk), http://emmatalks.org/session/leanne-simpson/.

Harsha Walia, "Decolonizing Together," Briarpatch, 2012 (essay), https://briarpatchmagazine.com/articles/view/decolonizing-together

Irvin Yalom, The Spinoza Problem: A Novel, Basic Books, 2013 (novel).

Chapter 3: Trust and Responsibility as Common Notions

carla bergman and Corin Brown, Common Notions: Handbook Not Required, 2015 (documentary).

Gustavo Esteva and Madhu Suri Prakash, Grassroots Post-Modernism: Remaking the Soil of Cultures, Zed Books, 1998 (non-fiction book).

Matt Hern, Everywhere all the Time: A New Deschooling Reader, AK Press, 2008 (non-fiction anthology).

John Holloway, "Greece: Hope Drowns in the Reality of a Dying World, or Does it?" (video lecture), http://www.johnholloway.com.mx/2015/10/05/greecehope-drowns-in-the-reality-of-a-dying-world-or-does-it/.

Walidah Imarisha, Angels with Dirty Faces: Three Stories of Crime, Prison, and Redemption, AK Press, 2016 (creative non-fiction).

The Invisible Committee, To Our Friends, Semiotext(e), 2015 (non-fiction book),

1.

Margaret Killjoy, "Take What You Need and Compost the Rest: an introduction to post-civilized theory," Strangers in a Tangled Wilderness, 2010 (zine), http://www.tangledwilderness.org/take-what-you-need-and-compost-the-rest/.

Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass, Milkwood, 2015 (non-fiction book).

Victoria Law, "Against Carceral Feminism," Jacobin, 2014 (essay), https://www.jacobinmag.com/2014/10/against-carceral-feminism/.

Leanne Simpson, ed., Lighting the Eighth Fire: The Liberation, Resurgence, and Protection of Indigenous Nations, Arbeiter Ring, 2008 (non-fiction anthology).

Raúl Zibechi, Dispersing Power: Social Movements as Anti-State Forces, 2010 (non-fiction book).

Chapter 4: Stifling Air, Burnout, Political Performance

Guy Debord, The Society of the Spectacle, 1967 (non-fiction book)

1.

Michel Foucault, "Preface," in Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, 1972 (non-fiction book).

Jo Freeman, "Trashing: the Dark Side of Sisterhood," 1976 (essay),

http://www.jofreeman.com/joreen/trashing.htm.

INCITE! Women of Colour Against Violence, eds., The Revolution Will Not be Funded: Beyond the Non-Profit Industrial Complex, South End Press, 2009 (non-fiction anthology).

Institute for Precarious Consciousness, "We Are All Very Anxious," 2014 (zine), https://cloudfront.crimethinc.com/pdfs/We-Are-All-Very-Anxious.pdf.

Friedrich Nietzsche, On the Genealogy of Morality, 1887 (non-fiction book),

http://www.inp.uw.edu.pl/mdsie/Political_Thought/GeneologyofMorals.pdf.

Andrew X, "Give Up Activism," 2009 (essay / zine),

1.

Chapter 5: Undoing Rigid Radicalism

Asam Ahmad, "A Note on Call-Out Culture," Briarpatch, 2015 (essay), https://briarpatchmagazine.com/articles/view/a-note-on-call-out-culture.

Kelsey Cham C., "Radical Language in the Mainstream," Perspectives on Anarchist Theory 29, 2016 (essay), https://anarchiststudies.org/2017/03/09/radical-language-in-the-mainstream-by-kelsey-cham-c/.

CrimethInc., "Against Ideology?," 2010 (essay),

http://www.crimethinc.com/texts/atoz/ideology.php.

scott crow, "In a moving river nothing can ever be set in stone: A letter for insurgent dreamers," (essay) in Emergency Hearts, AK Press, 2015,

1.

Michel Foucault, "Preface," in Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, Viking Press, 1977,

http://cnqzu.com/library/Philosophy/Deleuze,%20Gilles%20and%20Felix%20Guattari-AntiOedipus.pdf.

Jamie Heckert "Anarchy and Opposition," (essay) In Queering Anarchism: Addressing and Undressing Power and Desire, AK Press, 2012.

Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, "Paranoid Reading and Reparative Reading, Or, You're so Paranoid, You Probably Think This Essay Is about You," (essay) in Touching Feeling: Affect, Pedagogy, Performativity, Duke University Press, 2003,

https://sydney.edu.au/arts/slam/downloads/documents/novel_studies/3_Sedgwick.pdf

Alexis Shotwell, Against Purity: Living Ethically in Compromised Times, University of Minnesota Press, 2016 (non-fiction book).

amory starr, "Grumpywarriorcool: What Makes Our Movements White?" (essay) in Igniting a Revolution: Voices in Defense of the Earth, AK Press, 2006, http://trabal.org/texts/grumpywarriorcool.pdf.

Nicholas Thoburn, "Weatherman, the Militant Diagram, and the Problem of Political Passion," New Formations 68, 2009 (academic article), http://sfbay-anarchists.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/Thoburn-Weatherman-the-Militant-Diagram-and-the-Problem-of-Political-Passion.pdf.

Glossary of Terms

Joyful passions give us clues about becoming active in the growth of joy, opening the potential for tuning into, stoking, amplifying, modulating, and tending to emergent powers. To become active in joyful transformation is to become capable of participating in the forces that increase one's capacity to affect and be affected. To become capable of feeling and doing new things always requires an openness and vulnerability, and active participation requires a capacity to sustain this openness to change. The desire for full control or independence remains trapped in passivity, because learning to participate in joy's unfolding means being partially undone and transformed through an open-ended, uncontrollable process.

Affect is at the heart of Spinoza's philosophy of a "world in the making," in which things are defined not by what they are but by what they do: how they affect and are affected. To attend to affect means becoming attuned to the relations and encounters that compose us, right here and right now. To be affected intensely won't feel straightforwardly good or happy because intense affects are what transform, undo, and remake us. Emotions are a capturing of affect-a way of registering some of the forces that compose us. There can be no handbook for affect, because each encounter-each transition we undergo-is unique. No one knows what a body is capable of, and one only learns by experimenting: by becoming capable of new things. The capacity to affect and be affected leads to questions at the heart of this book: how do we affect each other? How can we become more capable, attuned, and alive together? What gets in the way of all this, and how might some of these obstacles be affective: intertwined with our comfort, safety, happiness, habits and pleasures?

The notion of affinity that we draw on comes from anarchism but stretches beyond the "affinity group" in which people who trust each other get together for a particular action. Organizing and connecting by affinity is an alternative (and sometimes a complement) to organizing on the basis of pre-existing ideologies, identities, and interests. It basically means encountering each other and seeing how it goes, searching for something shared that is emergent rather than pre-existing. It orients us to the question of what we might be able to do together, rather than (only) who we are and what we should do. To find affinity, in this sense, is not about finding people who are "like us" or who we "like," but about searching out connections and alliances through which we increase our powers and capacities.

Common notions

Common notions are not fixed ideas but shared thinking-feeling-doings that support joyful transformation. As such, they require uncertainty, experimentation, and flexibility amidst changing circumstances, and they exist in tension with fixed systems of morality and ideology. Common notions are processes through which people figure things out together and become active in joy's unfolding, learning to participate in and sustain new capacities. We suggest that trust and responsibility can be emergent and relational common notions, rather than fixed duties. In a certain way, common notions are fragile: if they are turned into fixed ways of doing things or moral commandments, detached from the ethical responsiveness that animated them, they die.

Conviviality

To undo Empire's radical monopolies entails participating in convivial forms of life: assemblages of tools, feelings, infrastructures, habits, skills, and relationships that enable and support the flourishing of creativity, autonomy, collective responsibility, and struggle. Conviviality gets at the way in which people are able to figure out things for themselves, from transformative justice that undoes dependence on cops and courts, to regenerative forms of subsistence that support a diversity of non-human critters, to alternatives to school that enable intergenerational learning, to all of the innumerable ways that people are reviving and inventing ways of living and dying that break Empire's monopoly over life today.

Deschooling

We use deschooling in two different ways. The act of deschooling is a process whereby a previously schooled person learns to shed habits and behaviors inculcated through schooling. Deschooling is also used to describe the creation of alternatives to schools and institutionalized education by generating learning environments that work from nonhierarchal relationships between learners and mentors. This means recognizing that we are always learning, everywhere, and that sharing knowledge works in all directions and relationships (a child can teach an adult, and so on).

Empire is the name for the organized catastrophe in which we live today. It is not really an "it" but a tangle of habits, tendencies, and apparatuses that sustain exploitation and control. We argue that it entrenches and accumulates sadness: it crushes and co-opts forces of transformation and detaches people from their own powers and capacities. It keeps us passive, stuck in forms of life in which everything is done to us or for us. This takes place through overt violence and repression, and the entrenchment of hierarchical divisions like heteropatriarchy and racism, by inducing dependence on institutions and markets, and by affective control and subjection.

Forms of life

The concept of a "form of life" is borrowed from Tiqqun, and we have used it synonymously with "worlds," without unpacking it rigorously, in favor of focusing on other concepts. Every form of life has an affective and ethical consistency. A form of life is irreducible to the people, practices, desires, and feelings that compose it-inseparable from the way people feel, from the questions they have, from their subtle gestures, from the place where they live and the non-human elements there. Forms of life are not stable units that can be represented with precision, with a fixed inside and outside; instead, they are patterned relations in movement. In this sense, the concept of a form of life orients us to the texture of life here and now. The forms of life proper to Empire are characterized by a paradoxical attenuation of intensity and joy-the very things that subtend forms of life. Empire's apparatuses of subjection nurture an attenuated form of life in which desire is turned against itself and subjects remain stuck in loops of anxiety, dependence, fear, evaluation, and categorization. One cannot imagine oneself into a different form of life, or plan it out. Connecting with other forms of life entails entanglement with transformative capacities and the values, penchants, and relations that go along with them. These other affective worlds are always in the making in the cracks of Empire: people are inventing and recovering ways of living and relating that are joyful and transformative, through which they are exploring new capacities together.

Freedom means finding the transformative potential in our own situations and relationships. This is very different from conventional, Western, patriarchal definitions of freedom, which tend to conceive it as a state of being uninhibited, unaffected, unhindered. This "free" individual of Empire is a form of subjection invented by capitalism and the state, enclosing us in a trap of market-mediated choices, contracts, and the refinement of our individual preferences. From the relational perspective we are advocating, freedom cannot be an escape from all connections and relations, or any destination; it can only mean finding room to move in the present. Finding the wiggle-room of freedom is joyful: a collective increase in capacity to work on relationships. It is in this sense that we argue that friendship and kinship are the basis of freedom: intimate, durable, fierce bonds with others that undo us, remake us, and create new capacities together.

In the broad sense that we use it here, ideology means having a pre-existing set of answers for political questions. This can be a capitalist ideology that sees everything in terms of individual preferences and self-interest; or a Marxist ideology that evaluates everything in terms of whether or not it will lead to a workers' revolution; or any other perspective that uses a fixed system of thought to evaluate and manage encounters. By sorting unfolding events into categories, everything becomes recognizable and thus one is closed off from the capacity to be affected intensely and transformed. To be transformed by an encounter, in contrast, is to be affected in a way that is disorienting and undoes some of the habits, categories, and perceptions enabled by ideology. To undo ideology requires a kind of thinking-feeling that is relatively open and vulnerable.

From Spinoza, joy means an increase in a body's capacity to affect and be affected. It means becoming capable of feeling or doing something new; it is not just a subjective feeling, but a real event that takes place. In this sense it is different from happiness, which is one of many potential ways a body might turn joy into a subjective experience. This increase in capacity is a process of transformation, and it might feel scary, painful, and exhilarating, but it will always be more than just the emotions one feels about it. It is the growth of shared power to do, feel, and think more.

We want to revalue militancy as fierce conviction in which struggle and care, fierceness and tenderness, go hand in hand. This emergent militancy is enabled by supportive and transformative relationships, which undo the stultifying forms of subjection inculcated by Empire. This is different from the militancy associated with strains of Marxism-Leninism, Maoism, and other currents that, historically, have been criticized for machismo, coldness, and vanguardism. At the same time, there are nascent tendencies of joyful militancy everywhere, including movements associated with rigidity. As something that comes out of and depends on relationships, joyful militancy is not a fixed perspective or an ideal to aspire to, but a lived process of transformative struggle.

Morality is the fixing of a division between good and evil that is divorced from the the intense uniqueness or singularity of situations, and the potentials therein. As such, it is a form of subjection that divorces us from our ability to be responsive to changing conditions, offering up rigid divisions between good and evil. We focus in particular on the rise of a liberal morality inherited from Christianity, which upholds the status quo and constantly regulates and pathologizes resistance and otherness. We suggest that an anti-liberal, radical morality has grown in reaction, attempting to turn the tables by pathologizing Empire and rooting out any form of complicity with it. This is a poisonous trap: anti-liberal morality purports to be against Empire, but it smuggles in penchants for guilt, shame, and self-righteousness, leading to new forms of radical policing and regulation in radical movements and spaces.

Much of the time, bodies undergo joy and sadness passively: we are always being affected by forces to which we are not attuned. To be affected passively is to undergo waves of joy and sadness (passions) without being able to participate in the process. One might experience a surge of joy and then suddenly lose the connection to those forces, without having much of a sense of what made the surge possible, or what led to its end. Sadness (the reduction of capacities) is always passive, but bodies can become active in and through joy.

Radical monopoly

Radical monopoly is Ivan Illich's term to get at the ways that modern institutions and infrastructures-from schools to courts to hospitals to highways-have made us dependent on them by monopolizing life and forcing out alternatives. In so-called "developed" countries in particular, the growth of modern institutions and industrial tools have created a form of life that is increasingly dependent on expert knowledge and industrial production. Through these monopolies, the skills, practices, and relationships that sustained grassroots, convivial forms of dying have been subjugated and, in some cases, completely annihilated. We take this a bit further by arguing that contemporary societies of control tend increasingly towards an affective monopoly, suffusing our habits, desires, and tendencies through perpetual surveillance, stimulation, and individualization.

Sadness is the reduction of one's capacity to affect and be affected. It is not necessarily about feeling unhappy or despairing, but about the ways that a body loses capacities, becoming more closed-off or inhibited. Because we found it is so easily conflated with sorrow, we tend to use words like stifling, stultifying, depleting, deadening, and numbing to get at the affections of sadness. Sadness can never be escaped or avoided completely; all things wax, wane, and change.

Subjection

Subjection gets at the ways that power does not merely oppress its subjects from above, but composes and creates them. People are not simply being tricked into participating in Empire's stifling forms of life, nor are we "choosing" to do so, as if we could simply opt out. On the contrary, under certain sets of conditions, people can be made to desire fascism, repression, and violence even if these forces are killing them. This form of power cannot simply be opposed because it is the condition of our existence; it is part of who we are and what we want, and our habits and pleasures have been shaped by it. For example, the promise of happiness through consumption can make us chase after experiences or objects that deplete us even though they are pleasurable, closing off our capacity to be affected otherwise. In a different way, social media trains its subjects into perpetual performance of an online identity, and the anxious management of our profiles closes us off from other forms of connection. Rigid radicalism induces a hypervigilant search for mistakes and flaws, stifling the capacity for experimentation. None of these modes of subjection dictate how exactly subjects will behave; instead they generate tendencies or attractor points which pull subjects into predictable, stultifying orbits. Resisting or transforming these systems is never straightforward, because it means resisting and transforming one's own habits and desires. It means surprising both the structure and oneself with something unexpected, new, and enabling.

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[*] BIPOC is an acronym for Black, Indigenous, and People of Color. We understand these not as ethnic categories or essentialist identities, but complex political categories forged in struggles against white supremacy and settler colonialism. For instance, the creation of BIPOC-specific spaces or "caucuses" within various struggles has created opportunities for understanding how racism or whiteness is playing out, and how it can be confronted effectively.

[†] ISIL stands for the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant, often used interchangeably with Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS).

[‡] Note: when we interviewed Silvia Federici, we were still using the phrase "sad militancy" in place of "rigid radicalism." The original terminology is retained throughout.

Footnotes

[1] Audre Lorde, Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches (Berkeley: Crossing Press, 1984), 4.

[2] Raoul Vaneigem, The Revolution of Everyday Life, trans. Donald Nicholson-Smith (Seattle: Rebel Press, 2001), 26.

[3] Michel Foucault, "Preface," in Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, by Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1983), xi-xiv.

[4] The concept of the "public secret" originated with situationism, and we borrow it from the Institute of Precarious Consciousness, in their suggestion that anxiety is a public secret of contemporary capitalism. See Institute for Precarious Consciousness, "Anxiety, Affective Struggle, and Precarity Consciousness-Raising," Interface 6/2 (2014), 271-300.

[5] Alfredo M. Bonanno, Armed Joy (London: Elephant Editions, 1998), https://theanarchistlibrary.org/library/alfredo-m-bonanno-armed-joy.

[7] The concept of sad militancy comes to us from Michel Foucault and Colectivo Situaciones. See Foucault, "Preface"; Colectivo Situaciones, "Something More on Research Militancy: Footnotes on Procedures and (In)Decisions," in Constituent Imagination, ed. Erika Biddle and Stevphen Shukaitis (Oakland: AK Press, 2007), 73-93.

[8] Brian Massumi, "Translator's Foreword: Pleasures of Philosophy," in A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, by Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1987), ix-xv.

[9] Zainab Amadahy, "Protest Culture: How's It Working for Us?," Rabble.ca, July 20, 2010, http://rabble.ca/news/2010/07/protest-culture-how%E2%80%99s-it-working-us.

[10] This phrase is often attributed to Frederic Jameson who wrote "Someone once said that it is easier to imagine the end of the world than to imagine the end of capitalism." See Frederic Jameson, "Future City," New Left Review 21 (2003), 77.

[11] Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1983), 38.

[12] Audre Lorde, Sister Outsider (Trumansburg: Crossing Press, 1984), 53.

[13] "The Wild Beyond: With and for the Undercommons," in The Undercommons: Fugitive Planning & Black Study, by Fred Moten and Stefano Harney (Wivenhoe: Minor Compositions, 2013), 10. http://www.minorcompositions.info/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/undercommons-web.pdf.

[14] Gilles Deleuze and Claire Parnet, Dialogues II, (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007), 61.

[16] "Joy-Definition of Joy in English," Oxford English Dictionary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/joy.

[17] Rebecca Solnit, "We Could Be Heroes," EMMA Talks, Vancouver, February 17, 2016. http://emmatalks.org/session/rebecca-solnit/.

[18] Sara Ahmed, The Promise of Happiness (Durham: Duke University Press, 2010), 192.

[19] Leanne Betasamosake Simpson, "Indict the System: Indigenous & Black Connected Resistance," LeanneSimpson.ca, http://leannesimpson.ca/indict-the-system-indigenous-black-connected-resistance/ (accessed November 28, 2014).

[20] Our interpretation of Spinoza's concept of joy comes from many sources, but one of the most helpful is Mary Zournazi's interview with the affect theorist Brian Massumi, in which he distinguishes joy from happiness. See Mary Zournazi, "Navigating Movements: A Conversation with Brian Massumi," in Hope: New Philosophies for Change, by Mary Zournazi (New York: Routledge, 2002), 241-242.

[21] Gustavo Esteva, interview by carla bergman and Nick Montgomery, email, April 26, 2014.

[22] Silvia Federici, interview by carla bergman and Nick Montgomery, telephone, January 18, 2016.

[23] Lorde, Sister Outsider, 57.

[24] adrienne maree brown, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman, email, November 11, 2015.

[25] This reading of Deleuze is indebted to conversations with Kim Smith and the reading she has developed of Susan Ruddick. See Susan Ruddick, "The Politics of Affect: Spinoza in the Work of Negri and Deleuze," Theory, Culture & Society 27/4 (2010), 21-45.

[27] This notion of wisdom is drawn from Claire Carlisle's helpful explanation of Spinozan wisdom as something akin to "emotional intelligence." See Claire Carlisle, "Spinoza, Part 7: On the Ethics of the Self," The Guardian, March 21, 2011, https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/belief/2011/mar/21/spinoza-ethics-of-the-self.

[28] Marina Sitrin, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman, email, February 4, 2016.

[29] "Militant," Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Militant&oldid=754366474 (accessed December 12, 2016).

[30] Melanie Matining, interview by carla bergman and Nick Montgomery, in person, May 6, 2014.

[31] Jackie Wang, "Against Innocence: Race, Gender and the Politics of Safety," LIES Journal 1 (2012), 13.

[33] Glen Coulthard, interview by carla bergman and Nick Montgomery, in person, March 16, 2016.

[35] Kiera L. Ladner and Leanne Simpson, eds., This Is an Honour Song: Twenty Years since the Blockades (Winnipeg: Arbeiter Ring, 2010), 1.

[36] Deborah B. Gould, Moving Politics: Emotion and ACT UP's Fight against AIDS (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009), 178.

[37] Sebastián Touza, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman, email, February 2, 2016.

[38] Sebastián Touza, "Antipedagogies for Liberation Politics, Consensual Democracy and Post-Intellectual Interventions" (PhD dissertation, Simon Fraser University, 2008), 136-7. https://www.academia.edu/544417/Antipedagogies_for_liberation_politics_consensual_democracy_and_post-intellectual_interventions.

[39] For a fuller discussion of these dynamics, see Marina Sitrin, Everyday Revolutions: Horizontalism and Autonomy in Argentina (London: Zed Books, 2012).

[40] Margaret Killjoy, interview by carla bergman and Nick Montgomery, email, March 8, 2014.

[41] Anonymous, "Robot Seals as Counter-Insurgency: Friendship and Power from Aristotle to Tiqqun," Human Strike, https://humanstrike.wordpress.com/2013/08/27/robot-seals-as-counter-insurgency-friendship-and-power-from-aristotle-to-tiqqun/ (accessed August 27, 2013).

[42] brown, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman.

[43] The turn of phrase "making kin" comes to us from the feminist philosopher Donna Haraway. See Donna Haraway, "Anthropocene, Capitalocene, Plantationocene, Chthulucene: Making Kin," Environmental Humanities 6/1 (2015), 161.

[45] "Freedom-Definition of Freedom in English," Oxford English Dictionary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016). https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/freedom.

[46] Douglas Harper, "Free (Adj.)," Online Etymology Dictionary, http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=free (accessed November 30, 2016).

[48] Editors of the American Heritage Dictionaries, eds., Word Histories and Mysteries: From Abracadabra to Zeus (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2004), 103.

[49] Invisible Committee, To Our Friends, trans. Robert Hurley (South Pasadena: Semiotext(e), 2015), 127.

[50] Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan (Oxford: Oxford Paperbacks, 2008), Chapter XIII, Of the Natural Condition of Mankind.

[51] This short account of the Age of Reason is drawn primarily from Silvia Federici. See Federici, Caliban and the Witch: Women, the Body and Primitive Accumulation (New York: Autonomedia, 2004), 133-62.

[52] Some books we have found helpful include Jane Bennett, Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things (Durham: Duke University Press, 2010); Gilles Deleuze, Expressionism in Philosophy: Spinoza, trans. Martin Joughin (New York: Zone Books, 1992); Moira Gatens, ed., Feminist Interpretations of Benedict Spinoza (University Park: Penn State University Press, 2009); Antonio Negri, The Savage Anomaly: The Power of Spinoza's Metaphysics and Politics (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1991); Tiqqun, Introduction to Civil War, trans. Alexander R. Galloway and Jason E. Smith (Los Angeles: Semiotext(e), 2010).

[54] "Ethics-Definition of Ethics in English," Oxford English Dictionary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/ethics.

[55] Deleuze, "Lecture on Spinoza's Concept of Affect."

[56] This anecdote is based on conversations and exchanges with Kim Smith.

[57] Invisible Committee, The Coming Insurrection (Los Angeles: Semiotext(e), 2009), 32.

[58] Haraway, "Anthropocene, Capitalocene, Plantationocene, Chthulucene."

[59] Ivan Illich to Madhu Suri Prakash, "Friendship," n.d.

[60] This is drawn from Anonymous, "Robot Seals as Counter-Insurgency."

[61] Coulthard, Interview with Glen Coulthard.

[62] See for instance Maria Mies, Patriarchy and Accumulation on a World Scale: Women in the International Division of Labour (London: Zed Books, 2014); Andrea Smith, "Heteropatriarchy and the Three Pillars of White Supremacy: Rethinking Women of Colour Organizing," in The Color of Violence: The Incite! Anthology, INCITE! Women of Colour Against Violence, eds., (Oakland: South End Press, 2006), 66-73; Andrea Smith, Conquest: Sexual Violence and American Indian Genocide (Cambridge, MA: South End Press, 2010); Federici, Caliban and the Witch.

[63] Silvia Federici, "Preoccupying: Silvia Federici," interview by Occupied Times, October 25, 2014, http://theoccupiedtimes.org/?p=13482.

[64] Dean Spade, "For Lovers and Fighters," in We Don't Need Another Wave: Dispatches from the Next Generation of Feminists, ed. Melody Berger (Emeryville: Seal Press, 2006), 28-39, http://www.makezine.enoughenough.org/newpoly2.html.

[65] bell hooks, Outlaw Culture: Resisting Representations (New York: Routledge, 2006), 249.

[66] Leanne Betasamosake Simpson, "I Am Not a Nation-State," Indigenous Nationhood Movement, November 6, 2013, http://nationsrising.org/i-am-not-a-nation-state/.

[67] Leanne Betasamosake Simpson, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman, email, November 2, 2015.

[68] Raúl Zibechi, Territories in Resistance: A Cartography of Latin American Social Movements, trans. Ramor Ryan (Oakland: AK Press, 2012), 39.

[70] Silvia Federici, "Permanent Reproductive Crisis: An Interview with Silvia Federici," interview by Marina Vishmidt, July 3, 2013, http://www.metamute.org/editorial/articles/permanent-reproductive-crisis-interview-silvia-federici.

[71] Mia Mingus, "On Collaboration: Starting With Each Other," Leaving Evidence, August 3, 2012, https://leavingevidence.wordpress.com/2012/08/03/on-collaboration-starting-with-each-other/.

[72] Gustav Landauer, Revolution and Other Writings: A Political Reader, ed. Gabriel Kuhn (Oakland: PM Press, 2010), 214.

[76] scott crow, Black Flags and Windmills: Hope, Anarchy, and the Common Ground Collective, 2nd ed. (Oakland: PM Press, 2014), 199.

[77] Richard J. F. Day, Gramsci Is Dead: Anarchist Currents in the Newest Social Movements (Toronto: Between the Lines, 2005), 127.

[78] Richard J. F. Day, "From Hegemony to Affinity," Cultural Studies 18/5 (2004), 716-48.

[79] Subcomandante Insurgente Marcos, Ya Basta!: Ten Years of the Zapatista Uprising, ed. Ziga Vodovnik, (Oakland: AK Press, 2004), 77.

[80] Gloria Anzaldúa, "(Un)natural Bridges, (Un)safe Spaces," in This Bridge We Call Home: Radical Visions for Transformation, Gloria Anzaldúa and AnaLouise Keating, eds. (New York: Routledge, 2002), 3.

[81] Zainab Amadahy, "Community, 'Relationship Framework' and Implications for Activism," Rabble.ca, July 13, 2010, http://rabble.ca/news/2010/07/community-%E2%80%98relationship-framework%E2%80%99-and-implications-activism.

[82] Coulthard, Interview by.

[83] Glen Sean Coulthard, Red Skin, White Masks: Rejecting the Colonial Politics of Recognition (Minneapolis: University Of Minnesota Press, 2014), 31.

[84] Coulthard, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman.

[85] Leanne Simpson, Dancing On Our Turtle's Back: Stories of Nishnaabeg Re-Creation, Resurgence, and a New Emergence (Winnipeg: Arbeiter Ring Press, 2011), 32.

[86] Luam Kidane and Jarrett Martineau, "Building Connections across Decolonization Struggles," ROAR, October 29, 2013, https://roarmag.org/essays/african-indigenous-struggle-decolonization/.

[87] Harsha Walia, "Decolonizing Together: Moving beyond a Politics of Solidarity toward a Practice of Decolonization," Briarpatch, January 1, 2012, https://briarpatchmagazine.com/articles/view/decolonizing-together.

[88] Coulthard, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman.

[89] Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra: A Book for All and None, trans. Thomas Wayne (New York: Algora Publishing, 2003), 42.

[90] Coulthard, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman.

[91] Mingus, "On Collaboration."

[92] Simpson, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman.

[93] Ursula LeGuin, "Ursula K Le Guin's Speech at National Book Awards: 'Books Aren't Just Commodities,'" The Guardian, November 20, 2014, https://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/nov/20/ursula-k-le-guin-national-book-awards-speech.

[94] scott crow, Black Flags and Windmills: Hope, Anarchy, and the Common Ground Collective, 2nd ed. (Oakland: PM Press, 2014), 173.

[95] adrienne maree brown, "That Would Be Enough," adriennemareebrown.net, September 6, 2016, http://adriennemareebrown.net/2016/09/06/that-would-be-enough/.

[96] VOID Network, "VOID Network on the December 2008 Insurrection in Greece," B.A.S.T.A.R.D. Conference, University of California, Berkeley, March 14, 2010, https://www.indybay.org/newsitems/2010/03/18/18641710.php.

[97] Many works within this current remain untranslated into English; however, there are a few English sources. In particular, we learned a lot from Sebastian Touza's PhD dissertation and our interview with him. See Colectivo Situaciones, 19&20: Notes for a New Social Protagonism, trans. Nate Holdren and Sebastian Touza (New York: Minor Compositions, 2012); Deleuze, "Lecture on Spinoza's Concept of Affect"; Marta Malo de Molina, "Common Notions, Part 1: Workers-Inquiry, Co-Research, Consciousness-Raising," European Institute for Progressive Cultural Policies, April 2004, http://eipcp.net/transversal/0406/malo/en; Marta Malo de Molina:, "Common Notions, Part 2: Institutional Analysis, Participatory Action-Research, Militant Research," European Institute for Progressive Cultural Policies, April 2004, http://eipcp.net/transversal/0707/malo/en; Touza, "Antipedagogies for Liberation Politics, Consensual Democracy and Post-Intellectual Interventions"; Touza, Interview with Sebastián Touza.

[98] Touza, "Antipedagogies for Liberation Politics, Consensual Democracy and Post-Intellectual Interventions," 210.

[99] Nora Samaran, "On Gaslighting," Dating Tips for the Feminist Man, June 28, 2016, https://norasamaran.com/2016/06/28/on-gaslighting/.

[100] Matt Hern, "The Promise of Deschooling," Social Anarchism 25 (1998), http://library.nothingness.org/articles/SI/en/display_printable/130.

[101] Toby Rollo, "Feral Children: Settler Colonialism, Progress, and the Figure of the Child," Settler Colonial Studies (June 2016), 1-20.

[102] Gilles Deleuze, "Postscript on the Societies of Control," October 59 (1992), 3-7.

[103] Institute for Precarious Consciousness, "We Are All Very Anxious," WeArePlanC.org, April 4, 2014, http://www.weareplanc.org/blog/we-are-all-very-anxious/.

[104] Sitrin, Everyday Revolutions, 37.

[105] Ivan Illich, Tools for Conviviality (New York: Harper & Row, 1973), 12.

[106] Our readings and understandings of Illich's work, and our understanding of conviviality in particular, is indebted to conversations with friends who either knew Illich personally or worked closely with his ideas, including Gustavo Esteva, Madhu Suri Prakash, Dan Grego, Dana L. Stuchul and Matt Hern.

[107] Quoted in The Invisible Committee, To Our Friends, 232-3.

[109] Rebecca Solnit, A Paradise Built in Hell: The Extraordinary Communities That Arise in Disaster (New York: Penguin Books, 2009), 2.

[111] Leanne Simpson, "Dancing the World into Being: A Conversation with Idle No More's Leanne Simpson," Yes! Magazine, March 5, 2013, http://www.yesmagazine.org/peace-justice/dancing-the-world-into-being-a-conversation-with-idle-no-more-leanne-simpson.

[112] Quoted in Tony Manno, "Unsurrendered," Yes! Magazine, 2015, http://www.arcgis.com/apps/MapJournal/index.html?appid=b24e304ce1944493879cba028607dfc7.

[113] INCITE! Women of Color Against Violence, "INCITE! Critical Resistance Statement," 2001, http://www.incite-national.org/page/incite-critical-resistance-statement.

[114] Rachel Zellars and Naava Smolash, "If Black Women Were Free: Part 1," Briarpatch, August 16, 2016, http://briarpatchmagazine.com/articles/view/if-black-women-were-free.

[115] Victoria Law, "Against Carceral Feminism," Jacobin, October 17, 2014, https://www.jacobinmag.com/2014/10/against-carceral-feminism/.

[116] Creative Interventions, "Toolkit," CreativeInterventions.org, http://www.creative-interventions.org/tools/toolkit/ (accessed December 1, 2016).

[117] Quoted in carla bergman and Corine Brown, Common Notions: Handbook Not Required, 2015.

[118] Gustavo Esteva, interview by carla bergman and Nick Montgomery, video, 2012.

[119] Kelsey Cham C., Nick Montgomery, and carla bergman, interview by carla bergman and Nick Montgomery, October 26, 2013.

[120] Marina Sitrin, "Occupy Trust: The Role of Emotion in the New Movements," Cultural Anthropology (February 2013), https://culanth.org/fieldsights/75-occupy-trust-the-role-of-emotion-in-the-new-movements.

[121] Gustavo Esteva and Madhu Suri Prakash, Grassroots Postmodernism: Remaking the Soil of Cultures (London: Zed Books, 1998), 91.

[122] Day, Gramsci Is Dead, 200.

[123] Zainab Amadahy, Wielding the Force: The Science of Social Justice, Smashwords edition (Zainab Amadahy, 2013), 36.

[124] Esteva and Prakash, Grassroots Postmodernism, 89.

[125] Amadahy, Wielding the Force, 149.

[126] Emma Goldman, "The Hypocrisy of Puritanism," in Red Emma Speaks: An Emma Goldman Reader, ed. Alix Kates Shulman (Amherst: Humanity Books, 1998), 157.

[127] Chris Dixon, "For the Long Haul," Briarpatch Magazine, June 21, 2016, http://briarpatchmagazine.com/articles/view/for-the-long-haul.

[129] This was suggested to us by Richard Day.

[130] brown, interview by carla bergman and Nick Montgomery.

[131] Amador Fernández-Savater, "Reopening the Revolutionary Question," ROAR Magazine 0 (December 2015).

[132] Federici, interview by carla bergman and Nick Montgomery.

[133] Touza, interview by carla bergman and Nick Montgomery.

[134] Friedrich Nietzsche, On the Genealogy of Morals and Ecce Homo, ed. Walter Kaufmann (New York: Vintage, 1989), 32.

[135] Foucault, "Preface."

[136] Cited in Ashanti Alston, "An Interview with Ashanti Alston," interview by Team Colours, June 6, 2008, https://inthemiddleofthewhirlwind.wordpress.com/an-interview-with-ashanti-alston/.

[137] Thoburn develops his conception of a "militant diagram" through a reading of Deleuze and Guattari, and we have found it useful in thinking about rigid radicalism as an affective tendency that is irreducible to the gestures, habits, practices, and statements that are simultaneously its fuel and its discharge. See Nicholas Thoburn, "Weatherman, the Militant Diagram, and the Problem of Political Passion," New Formations 68/1 (2010), 125-42.

[138] Colectivo Situaciones, "Something More on Research Militancy: Footnotes and Procedures and (In)Decisions," 5.

[139] Thoburn, "Weatherman, the Militant Diagram, and the Problem of Political Passion," 129; Cathy Wilkerson, Flying Close to the Sun: My Life and Times as a Weatherman (New York: Seven Stories Press, 2007), 265-300.

[140] Bernardine Dohrn, Bill Ayers, and Jeff Jones, eds., Sing a Battle Song: The Revolutionary Poetry, Statements, and Communiques of the Weather Underground 1970-1974 (New York: Seven Stories Press, 2006), 18.

[141] Bill Ayers, Fugitive Days: Memoirs of an Antiwar Activist (Boston: Beacon Press, 2009), 154.

[142] Esteva, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman.

[143] Thoburn, "Weatherman, the Militant Diagram, and the Problem of Political Passion," 134.

[144] Esteva, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman.

[145] Sitrin, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman.

[146] Emma Goldman, Living My Life (New York: Dover Publications, 1970), 54.

[147] amory starr, "Grumpywarriorcool: What Makes Our Movements White?," in Igniting a Revolution: Voices in Defense of the Earth (Oakland: AK Press, 2006), 379.

[148] Idem, 383.

[149] crow, Black Flags and Windmills, 81.

[150] Alston, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman.

[151] Richard J. F. Day, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman, phone, March 18, 2014.

[152] Alston, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman.

[153] CrimethInc., "Against Ideology?," CrimethInc.com, 2010, http://www.crimethinc.com/texts/atoz/ideology.php.

[154] Erich Fromm, Man for Himself: An Inquiry Into the Psychology of Ethics (Oxon: Routledge, 1947), 235.

[156] Nietzsche, On the Genealogy of Morals and Ecce Homo, 33.

[158] Quoted by Maya Angelou in Malcolm X, Malcolm X: An Historical Reader, ed. James L. Conyers and Andrew P. Smallwood (Durham: Carolina Academic Press, 2008), 181.

[159] Kelsey Cham C., "Radical Language in the Mainstream," Perspectives on Anarchist Theory 29 (2016), 122-3.

[160] Asam Ahmad, "A Note on Call-Out Culture," Briarpatch, March 2, 2015, http://briarpatchmagazine.com/articles/view/a-note-on-call-out-culture.

[161] Ngọc Loan Trần, "Calling IN: A Less Disposable Way of Holding Each Other Accountable," Black Girl Dangerous, December 18, 2013, http://www.blackgirldangerous.org/2013/12/calling-less-disposable-way-holding-accountable/.

[163] Chris Crass, "White Supremacy Cannot Have Our People: For a Working Class Orientation at the Heart of White Anti-Racist Organizing," Medium, July 28, 2016, https://medium.com/@chriscrass/white-supremacy-cannot-have-our-people-21e87d2b268a.

[165] Ursula Le Guin, The Lathe of Heaven (New York: Scribner, 1999), 137.

[166] This section title is borrowed from Eve Sedgwick, from whom we've also taken the concept of paranoid reading. See Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, "Paranoid Reading and Reparative Reading, Or, You're so Paranoid, You Probably Think This Essay Is about You," in Touching Feeling: Affect, Pedagogy, Performativity (Duke University Press, 2003), 124-51.

[167] Killjoy, Interview with Margaret Killjoy.

[168] Sedgwick, "Paranoid Reading and Reparative Reading, Or, You're so Paranoid, You Probably Think This Essay Is about You."

[169] Day, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman.

[170] Mik Turje, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman, March 4, 2014.

[171] Walidah Imarisha, Angels with Dirty Faces: Three Stories of Crime, Prison, and Redemption (Oakland: AK Press, 2016), 113-15.

[172] Walidah Imarisha, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman, email, December 22, 2015.

[173] Federici, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman.

[174] John Holloway, Change the World Without Taking Power: The Meaning of Revolution Today, 2nd Revised Edition (London: Pluto Press, 2005), 215.

[175] Coulthard, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman.

[176] This turn of phrase comes to us from Stevphen Shukaitis's wonderful book Imaginal Machines: Autonomy & Self-Organization in the Revolutions of Everyday Life (New York: Autonomedia, 2009), 141-2, http://www.minorcompositions.info/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/ImaginalMachines-web.pdf.

[177] This idea is paraphrased from Lauren Berlant and her conception of "cruel optimism," a relation in which our attachments become obstacles to our flourishing. See Lauren Berlant, Cruel Optimism (Durham: Duke University Press, 2011).

[178] Federici, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman.

[179] Zainab Amadahy, interview by Nick Montgomery and carla bergman, January 15, 2016.

[180] Jo Freeman, "Trashing: The Dark Side of Sisterhood," JoFreeman.com, n.d., http://www.jofreeman.com/joreen/trashing.htm.

[181] Marge Piercy, "The Grand Coolie Dam," (Boston: New England Free Press, 1969).

[182] See Jo Freeman, "The Tyranny of Structurelessness," Ms. Magazine, July 1973.

[183] Silvia Federici, "Putting Feminism Back on Its Feet," Social Text 9/10 (1984), 338-46.

[185] Silvia Federici, "Losing the sense that we can do something is the worst thing that can happen," interview by Candida Hadley, Halifax Media Co-op, November 5, 2013, http://halifax.mediacoop.ca/audio/losing-sense-we-can-do-something-worst-thing-can-h/19601.

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Willing to be Troubled: an essay with a love note to Gil Scott-Heron We've all heard so many conflicting words About life, whether wrong or right How you gotta be workin' hard And it ain't no easy job To survive.

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T:>works’ festival of women curated by Noorlinah Mohammed

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T:>works’ festival of women curated by Noorlinah Mohammed

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https://www.notordinarywork.com/

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we need more information here

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The Critical Craft Collective, co-founded by Adeline Kueh & Hazel Lim, is an initiative that seeks to examine/relook at the relationship of craft in the 21st century at the intersections of fine arts/contemporary art practice and technology. The impetus for this project is precipitated by the
COVID-19 pandemic and our relationship to the home (and the activities around it) as a site of radical domesticity.

Citing historical trajectories of these communal practices, the Critical Craft Collective (CCC) will foreground elements of storytelling that are embedded in the process of making. The CCC is focused on
highlighting different ideals and reimagining notions of nurturing and care away from traditional (gendered) norms.
We subscribe fully to a quote by artist Trinh T. Minh-Ha who spoke about the process of “speaking nearby”, which refers to “a speaking that does not objectify, does not point to an object as if it is distant from the speaking subject or absent from the speaking place. A speaking that reflects on itself and can come very close to a subject without, however, seizing or claiming it.”

As a forward-facing entity that enables a range of partnerships, collaborations and curatorial projects to take place, the Critical Craft Collective aims to be the Craft Council of Singapore in the near future - one that will further expand dialogues and conversations on the intersections of craft, design and contemporary art practices and to connect with other craft councils around the world.

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Annex B1_ CV_About Critical Craft Collective Jan 2023.docx

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​An art collective in Singapore for artists who identify as women. Collaborate with Fertile Art Refinery!

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https://instagram.com/christinerbayart

SINGULARITY (2023) is a series of sculptures delving into the complex psychological relationship between technology and humanity.

Christine is a visual artist and painter from Singapore who creates artworks steeped in surrealism and symbolisms.

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radioriotgrrrl by Meng Ju Lin and Nadhirah Khalid

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radioriotgrrrl by Meng Ju Lin and Nadhirah Khalid

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Women in Rage- by Yan Yun Chen and Sarah Chong

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Women in Rage- by Yan Yun Chen and Sarah Chong

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Women in Rage
5 minutes short animation film
YANYUN CHEN / SARA CHONG

Women in Rage imagines the anger of mythical female monstrosities-Medusa, Pontianak, Rokurokubi, Venus, Lilith and many other ladies-from whom we have inherited the figure of the supernatural woman. By turning the lens away from the myth towards the antagonist, this animated short film rages with their injustices, prejudices, subjugation, and bodies.

Stories are our inheritance. To dismiss the formation of a hero or villain is to lose an understanding of our culture and values. We know of female monstrosities, yet rarely hear of the suffering that made them the antagonist. By foregrounding their pain and anger, we learnt to listen deeply and give consideration to their bodies and pain. Art is a humane practice in imagining the Other.

These women are angry.

So are we.

Writer: Yanyun Chen
Director and animator: Sara Chong
Music: "Jabberwocky" by Endless Roar
Rush Hush LP - Side B, Track 1
Produced by Jersika Records, Riga, Latvia
(c) 2019

Commissioned by Objectifs Singapore for Women in Film and Photography Short Film Programme 2019, themed "Remedy for Rage" in October - November 2019.

Selected for Biennale de L'Image en Mouvement BIM, Buenos Aires, Argentina (postponed to 2022)
Moscow Indie Film Festival, Moscow, Russia (25th January - 29th January 2021);
Cartoons Underground, Singapore, Singapore (9th - 13th December 2020);
Los Angeles Animation Festival, LA, USA (5th December 2020);
Montreal International Animation Film Festival Animaze 2020, Montreal, Canada (19th November 2020);
Prague International Indie Film Festival Q3 "Best Animation Short" winner, Prague, Czech Republic (19th September 2020);
Leiden International Short Film Experience, Leiden, Netherlands (10th - 12th September 2020);
Nefiltravanae Kino Short Movie Club Film Festival "Unfiltered Cinema", Minsk, Belarus (13th March - 15th March 2020);
Clouds: The 6th International Exhibition and Publication on New Media Art, CICA Museum, South Korea (25th March - 12th April 2020);
Women in Film and Photography Short Film Programme 2019, Objectifs, Singapore, Singapore. (October 2019)
Publication
Into the Clouds: New Media Art 2021, editor Leejin Kim, published by CICA Press, Gimpo, Korea, 2020. ISBN 979-11-88671-15-1 03600 (paperback), ISBN 979-11-88671-16-8 05600 (ebook)

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Women in Rage 5 minutes short animation filmYANYUN CHEN / SARA CHONG Women in Rage imagines the anger of mythical female monstrosities-Medusa, Pontianak, Rokurokubi, Venus, Lilith and many other ladies-from whom we have inherited the figure of the supernatural woman.

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Claims Submissions (2021)

Claims Submission is an ongoing collection of NSFW ink drawings (of OnlyFans teasers, self-portraits and sapphic porn screenshots) on receipts collected during COVID-19. Sick of pandemic art but unable to create very much else, worms resorted to drawing things that make them happy. Claims Submission combines the two staples of lockdown life: the thrill of going to the store, and the banality of sex and porn.

Drawing on previous explorations of the intersections of sexuality and capitalism, worms presents the body as a product(by-product) of boredom, questioning the role of sex in creating agency in an increasingly price-tagged, valuated, and surveilled world.

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Claims Submission is an ongoing collection of NSFW ink drawings (of OnlyFans teasers, self-portraits and sapphic porn screenshots) on receipts collected during COVID-19. Sick of pandemic art but unable to create very much else, worms resorted to drawing things that make them happy.

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Homologue- By Soo Pei Jia and Smiha Kapoor

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Homologue- By Soo Pei Jia and Smiha Kapoor

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We spent last weekend checking out Homologue, a group show by Soo Pei Jia and Smiha Kapoor. Interests in female and natural forms unite the two artists' practices in unexpected ways.

Seeds are a recurring symbol in Kapoor's photography works, as she views them as symbols of evolution. To her, their shapes and cross-sections recall the curvatures of the female body. On display is a selection of close-up portraits of her body together with seeds, which were taken by collaborator Saraswati Satyananda.

Accompanying these are Kapoor's digital collages that blend landscape shots of Rajasthan and Scotland - two places that she travelled to with friends and has fond memories of - with detailed shots of local seeds. Considering the multiple years between taking photographs of her travels and the seeds, the artist views these collages as "performances through time and space."

Then, there are Soo's haunting miniature clay sculptures that focus on the "anthropomorphic, abject body." Here, gentle faces bloom from split-open seeds, inspired by the artist's interest in stillbirth.

A glistening, flesh-like form bearing references to teratoma and umbilical cords sits alone on a bed of soil, encouraging us to consider both the familiarity and alien quality of certain body parts.

Overall, Homologue invites us to contemplate the parallels between the botanical and female body, while representing various stages of budding, blooming, and decay. It's a small, neat show, and we definitely can't wait to see what these two artists get up to next.

Homologue runs at Kult Kafe, 200 Turf Club Road until 31 July 2022. Click here to learn more.

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Homologue By Soo Pei Jia and Smiha Kapoor @ Kult Kafe

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We spent last weekend checking out Homologue, a group show by Soo Pei Jia and Smiha Kapoor. Interests in female and natural forms unite the two artists' practices in unexpected ways. Seeds are a recurring symbol in Kapoor's photography works, as she views them as symbols of evolution.

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Vangeline Theater/New York Butoh Institute

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Available online at www.vimeo.com/vangeline after Tuesday, June 8, 2021 at 9pm: XUE (Singapore) in Flowers, performed in 2019 in Brooklyn, NY, with a live accompaniment on electric guitar by John Barrington, an improvised score integrated with ASMR style field recordings of hand-manipulated chrysanthemums. In collaboration with Mika Orotea and John Barrington.
VHS Documentation by Mika Orotea.

With an introduction by the artist (60 minutes).
Please note that this presentation contains nudity.
XUE is a surrogate for artist Sher Chew - an eponymous conductor of clandestine realities, activated through live performance informed by the art of butoh. XUE is interested in aesthetic production as intervention, cultivating an impressionistic style of world building as a form of critical resistance. XUE's worlds are post-lingual spaces which often involve silent or disarticulate bodies routinely subject to invisible restrictions. By designing rigorous systems that provoke exhaustion, XUE is committed to unscripting the socialized body; allowing radical physical vocabularies to emerge through the body as it cedes to a state of surrender.

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Queer Butoh 2021: XUE -Vangeline Theater/New York Butoh Institute

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Available online at www.vimeo.com/vangeline after Tuesday, June 8, 2021 at 9pm: XUE (Singapore) in Flowers, performed in 2019 in Brooklyn, NY, with a live accompaniment on electric guitar by John Barrington, an improvised score integrated with ASMR style field recordings of hand-manipulated chrysanthemums. In collaboration with Mika Orotea and John Barrington.VHS Documentation by Mika Orotea.

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Title Air Ways Year 2022 Medium Glass tanks, air pump, air stone, water pump, LED lights, plastic tubes, sound Dimensions Dimensions...

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https://www.bothsidesnow.sg

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https://youtu.be/KJkYIkO-Ak4

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As a visual and installation artist, I am fascinated by the power of geometry, symmetry, and simple shapes. I am particularly drawn to the square, circle, and triangle, as well as the interplay between different colors and lines. Through my art, I seek to explore the beauty and order that can be found in the simplicity of shapes, even in the midst of complexity.

One of my favorite techniques is to stitch on Plexiglas using threads. This allows me to create intricate patterns and designs that highlight the unique qualities of each shape and color. Whether I am working on a small-scale piece or a large installation, I strive to create an immersive experience that invites viewers to engage with the interplay of shapes and colors in new and unexpected ways.

Ultimately, my goal as an artist is to create work that celebrates the power of simplicity and invites viewers to see the world in a new light. Whether I am using circles to represent unity or triangles to symbolize change, I hope to create a sense of wonder and curiosity that inspires viewers to explore the beauty of shape and color in their own lives.

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Veronyka Lau (b. 1971, Singapore) is an English Lit grad, social and animal welfare advocate, martial artist turned artist.

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A Singapore-based textile artist interested in the interactions between people and the natural environment, and how this relationship can be improved. I work with textiles, primarily by creating textile collages and soft sculptures incorporating my observations through stitching (hand and free motion embroidery) and marking. My current work looks at slowing down, and making the unseen visible to the community, enabling them to appreciate nature.

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Agatha Lee “Agy” is a textile artist who loves to draw with thread to create delicate lines and textures, producing surfaces that are not only vibrant and dynamic, but captivate the viewer. In all of her textile art work, she uses free motion machine embroidery where she carefully guides t

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Women artists and all-women art shows around the world have found a new significance buoyed by a wave of female articulations on equality, politics, and climate change. This progress comes at a time when there is ever more uncertainty brought about by economic volatility, global conflicts, and environmental crisis. The exhibition unravels a rich tapestry of contemporary voices of women in art. Through their diverse art forms from painting, sculpture, embroidery, sound, installation, to performance. they engage in issues on identity, domesticity, community, the environment, and human labour with their unique qualities of intuition, humour, craft and play.

First exhibition of Fertile Art Refinery in 2019 at Far East Plaza.

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Steep Strong x Wuwei Performances Series Archive

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Artists of Fertile Art Refinery dip their feet into technology for the first time with a collaboration with National Library's maker space.

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"The flesh is at the heart of the world", says a philosopher. How then are we, of flesh, of heart, to navigate a new world built on points and pixels? Like an adventurer, an archaeologist, an anthropologist, a wayfinder, a gardener of odd crops, a collector of strange things, 12 artists unravel the trajectories of this accelerated progress. With the library as refuge, the artists use art as an intermediary, a cathartic tool to expose and remap the anxieties around emerging technologies and the very human propensity for the familiar.

From 1 to 14 April, the Jurong Regional Library is hosting an ArtxTech exploration by 12 artists amongst its books, shelves and reading corners. Since February 2021, these 12 artists from the all-women arts collective Fertile Art Refinery have been learning new tech skills for the first time in a collaboration with the National Library Board's space. The exhibition is a culmination of their exploration into digital fabrication, robotics, coding, projection mapping and more.

Embroidery has a long history as a story-telling medium. Traditionally regarded as women's work, the act of drawing with needle and thread has allowed communities to record history, personal experiences and cultural stories through various motifs on fabric.

The artist, Agatha Lee "Agy" uses both hand stitch and free motion embroidery in her work to translate observations of her surroundings into textile collages and 3D pieces. As an advocate of slowing down, she also uses these techniques as a form of meditation to reconnect with herself and process the demands of daily life.

In this piece of artwork, the artist compares the use of old (handstitch) and new technology (ie 3D printer) in the creation of embroidery on textiles. She attempted to replicate the patterns from her own embroidered garment and asked questions:

Whether new technology can mimic the meditative process of embroidery

Whether we are able to replicate and pass down generations of embroidery motifs using new technology,

Whether a person who uses new technology to create embroidered pieces can be called an artisan

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"The flesh is at the heart of the world", says a philosopher. How then are we, of flesh, of heart, to navigate a new world built on points and pixels? Like an adventurer, an archaeologist, an anthropologist, a wayfinder, a gardener of odd crops, a collector of strange things, 12 artists unravel the trajectories of this accelerated progress.

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https://eresources.nlb.gov.sg/newspapers/Digitised/Article/freepress19590912-1.2.46

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Images: Koh Nguang How, facebook album of the same name. https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10153249194791989&type=3

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Trailblazing female graphic designer in the 1960s and 1970s

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A trailblazing female graphic designer in the 1960s and 1970s

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On 29 May 2015, Mrs Mary Choo retired from Tampines Junior College as the longest standing and arguably most beloved Art teacher.

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"Just finished reading this great Red Book! Discovered many interesting things..eg petty crimes that were committed! I was very touched by their sincerity and their affection for me..a mother when I have no children of my own. On the back cover it says 'WE ARE ALL HER CHILDREN ..."

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"I Need My Heart, Breath Of Death, Beat As a Drum"

I'm always fascinated by the splendor of the everyday. Against all the depressing and chaotic evidence to the contrary, life has meaning and values I often reflect upon existential questions on the meaning of Fear, Death and Loss. Being human is an enigma for me.

My ideas manifested like a thousand horses in my head, I'm constantly searching to elevate human life and the tenacity of the human spirit. My practice seems to me to exist in a space between many things: materiality and performativity; absurd humor and grueling tenacity; ritual and release; sound and silence; it is intuitive and considered; ephemeral and object- based. It inhibits body, object, room and world.

My intention is to affirm this life, not to bring order out of chaos, nor to suggest improvements in creation, but simply to wake up to the very life we're living, which is so excellent once one gets one's mind and desires out of its way and lets it act of its own accord. Understanding deeper than my own of what it is to be human, attuned to the kaleidoscopic reality of being alive.

Welcome to my world. ​

- anGie seah

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Angie Seah - Multi-Disciplinary Artist Singapore

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"I Need My Heart, Breath Of Death, Beat As a Drum" I'm always fascinated by the splendor of the everyday. Against all the depressing and chaotic evidence to the contrary, life has meaning and values I often reflect upon existential questions on the meaning of Fear, Death and Loss.

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Vanessa Ban is a graphic designer, artist, and lecturer. Her work cohabits contemporary art and graphic design. She is interested in the mediation between design and art language and is invested in holding the tension between these two forms of aesthetic discourses. Premising the category of an artwork as a foundation to her thought process, she sees design as a complementary discursive partner that can subtly speak to the art object.

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If you are looking for examples of public art installations, performances and collaborations in Singapore, do browse the art work on display. I also conduct research initiatives into art practices with communities, art pedagogy and art education. Feel free to contact me should you have further enquires about my work and practice.

You may also be interested to visit www.ccd.sg to find out more about Community Cultural Development in Singapore, an initiative I had started in 2010.

Thank you!

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If you are looking for examples of public art installations, performances and collaborations in Singapore, do browse the art work on display. I also conduct research initiatives into art practices with communities, art pedagogy and art education. Feel free to contact me should you have further enquires about my work and practice.

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Liana Yang is a visual artist based in Singapore. Her works consist of photography, installations and video works, which explore the paradoxes of social culture & the duality of relationships.

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Genevieve Chua is a painter who works primarily through abstraction. Chua employs a method of working that unfurls and reveals the painter’s process through diagram, palimpsest, syntax, and the glitch.

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A talented start. The Straits Times, 5 September 1981, Page 5.  Dori Sabapathy . Evelyn Lip.

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A talented start. The Straits Times, 5 September 1981, Page 5.  Dori Sabapathy . Evelyn Lip.

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Articles from the SPH Media and Mediacorp Press Limited publications provided herein, can be obtained by requesting the National Library Board, Singapore, to provide the same, in strict compliance with the current provisions of the Singapore Copyright Act provisions. The user agrees to comply with this legal condition, the breach of which is contrary to the Copyright Act, Computer Misuse Act and the National Library Board Act. Kindly confirm your understanding of this condition by clicking on the 'I Agree' button.

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A talented start DORI SABAPATHY RANGER SATELLITES by Evelyn Lip Macmillan South-east Asia. $39 (nine titles plus cassette i Reviewed by IT IS encouraging to notice the growing interest on the part of publishing firms m children's books written by local authors This series of nine small books is a

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Artist Talk with ila, Mengju Lin and Samantha Yap

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Priyageetha Dia, Sophia Dominguez, Tysha Khan and Syaheedah Iskandar

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Priyageetha Dia, Sophia Dominguez, Tysha Khan and Syaheedah Iskandar

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Artist Talk with Priyageetha Dia, Sophia Dominguez, Tysha Khan and Syaheedah Iskandar

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Interrogations of femininity by Yanyun Chen and Kanchana Gupta

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Interrogations of femininity by Yanyun Chen and Kanchana Gupta

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Interrogations of femininity by Yanyun Chen and Kanchana Gupta

Curated by Kimberly Shen
Chapel Gallery, Objectifs
10 Feb to 13 Mar 2022
Advisory: Nudity
Free admission
Opening: Thu 10 Feb, 12pm to 9pm

Artist Conversation: Unpacking Feminine Auto/narratives: Sat 12 Feb, 4pm to 5.15pm,
online (Register here)
Artist Conversation: The Material Arc of Gender Norms: Sat 19 Feb, 4pm to 5.15pm at Objectifs (Register here)
Artists' Tour by Kanchana Gupta and Yanyun Chen: Sat 19 Feb, 5.30pm to 6.30pm at Objectifs (Register here)
Artist Conversation: Constructions of Femininity and Women's Expressions: Sat 26 Feb, 4pm to 5.15pm online (Register here)
Film Screening and Q&A:While She Quivers: Selections from the Objectifs Film Library: Sat 5 Mar, 4pm to 5.30pm at Objectifs (Register here). Rated NC16.

While She Quivers bridges the converging practices of visual artists Kanchana Gupta and Yanyun Chen, interrogating the socially and culturally defined frameworks of femininity in a quiet provocation of desire, power, intimacy, and personal agency. The exhibition presents rich and embodied extensions of their long-term explorations - Kanchana's Production of Desire and Yanyun's Stories of a woman and her dowry. Both works navigate the precarities of the cultural tropes and expectations of Asian women, in a palpable reclamation of tenderness and strength embedded in the feminine narrative and identity.

Quivering, as a gesture, denotes a restlessness, tension, and uncertainty that is also fuelled by emotive power and potency. It requires vulnerability in strength, resists subjugation, and demands a bold incitement of power. Kanchana and Yanyun's incisive installations transform the Objectifs Chapel Gallery into a space that is visceral and contemplative; employing symbolic gestures, rituals and objects in ways that are equally autonarrative and somatic to unpack the underlying performativity of being a woman.

Supported by Objectifs, Yale-NUS College, the National Arts Council and Tote Board Arts Fund
Press:
:: Plural Art Mag: Instagram Feature
:: The Straits Times: Arts Picks
:: Art & Market: Let's Get Into Digital (Feb-Mar)
About the artists
Dr Yanyun Chen is a visual artist, and runs a drawing, animation and installation practice. Her works delve into the aesthetic, cultural and technological inheritances on one's body, unravelling fictional and philosophical notions of embodiment. She researches cultural wounds, dowry traditions, hereditary scars, philosophies of nudities, and etymology. She received the prestigious National Arts Council Young Artist Award (2020), Singapore's highest award for young arts practitioners, aged 35 and below.

Her works were also awarded the Prague International Indie Film Festival Q3 Best Animation Award (2020), ArtOutreach IMPART Visual Artist Award (2019), National Youth Film Awards Best Art Direction Award (2019), Singapore Art Museum President's Young Talents People's Choice Award (2018), Japan Media Arts Festival (2012) and Lee Kuan Yew Gold Medal Award (2009).

Dr Chen is the Arts Practice Coordinator for the Division of Humanities at Yale-NUS College in Singapore, the founder of illustration and animation studio Piplatchka, and a partner of publishing house Delere Press LLP. Outside of Singapore, her works have been exhibited internationally, including Buenos Aires, South Korea, Canada, United States, Belarus, The Netherlands and Czech Republic.

Kanchana Gupta is originally from India and currently lives and works in Singapore. Her current series of personal and intimate video-based explorations investigate the framework of femininity and the narrative of sexualized presentations of the female body with specific reference to song sequences visualised in commercial Indian cinema of the 1980s and 90s. In this series of works titled, 'The Production of Desire', she deconstructs cinematic paradigms of femininity as portrayed and fetishized in the Indian cinema and investigates the deployment of the female body as a signifier of both cultural identity and spectacle.

Kanchana received an MA in Fine Arts from LASALLE College of Arts, Singapore where she was the recipient of the Dr Winston Oh Travel Research Award. Since then, her works have featured in numerous group exhibitions, both in Singapore and internationally, in addition to three solo shows in Singapore. Her works are in institutional and private collections in Singapore, and in private collections in Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand, Philippines, Japan, Hong Kong and USA.
About the curator
Kimberly Shen is a curator, arts practitioner and educator based in Singapore. Her artistic practice is multifaceted in approach, situated at the intersection of text, image and performance. She is drawn towards gendered gestures and vocabularies, in mediation of pluralism and feminine subjectivities. Over the past decade, she has worked with leading and emerging artists, writers and researchers, and has presented her curatorial projects at the Institute of Contemporary Arts Singapore, Objectifs - Centre for Photography and Film, OH! Open House, and the Nanyang Academy of Fine Arts (NAFA).

A recipient of the National Arts Council Arts Scholarship (Postgraduate), she graduated with a Master of Research in Art: Theory and Philosophy from Central Saint Martins, University of the Arts London, United Kingdom. She is the winner of the IMPART Awards (Curator Category) (2019), Curator-in-Residence for The Art Incubator (2015), and member of the International Association of Art Critics (AICA), Singapore Section. Currently the Programme Leader (Fine Art) at NAFA, she previously headed the communications portfolio at the NTU Centre for Contemporary Art Singapore where she developed the Centre's considerable communications and outreach efforts.

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Curated by Kimberly Shen Chapel Gallery, Objectifs 10 Feb to 13 Mar 2022 Advisory: Nudity Free admission Opening: Thu 10 Feb, 12pm to 9pm Artist Conversation: Unpacking Feminine Auto/narratives: Sat 12 Feb, 4pm to 5.15pm, online (Register here) Artist Conversation: The Material Arc of Gender Norms: Sat 19 Feb, 4pm

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Juliana Yasin https://eresources.nlb.gov.sg/infopedia/articles/SIP_1845_2011-10-09.html

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Welcome to delia.prvacki.com

This website is designed for JavaScript-only browsers. In case you have disabled JavaScript, please enable it and reload this page. Otherwise consider installing a JavaScript capable browser such as Mozilla Firefox, Safari or Opera.

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Wordpress webhosting and server management by PressWerk

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Singapore based artist Delia provides complete professional assistance to artistic projects, from the conceptualization of ideas through the realization and final installation of the work.

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SALTY XI JIE NG 黄晞竭 - THE COSMOS WAIT FOR YOU

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Salty - Xi Jie Ng - artist - the cosmos wait for you

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Debbie Ding is an artist and technologist from Singapore working with technologies of perception and virtual reality game development.

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Hope :  w.a.p. (Women Artists' Project) : an exhibition of site-specific artworks at CHIJMES, Victoria Street, Singapore, 15th January to 17th February 2000 

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Hope :  w.a.p. (Women Artists' Project) : an exhibition of site-specific artworks at CHIJMES, Victoria Street, Singapore, 15th January to 17th February 2000 

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"An affiliate exhibition of NOKIA Singapore Art 99."

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Isabelle Desjeux is a Singapore-based French artist, scientist and researcher.

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Isabelle Desjeux is the permanent resident artist, founder of the residency inviting other artists, mentoring them in the experimental side of art, and helping them navigate the school environment.

Using the space in-between and constantly fostering collaborations with the children, Isabelle Desjeux's experiments, artworks, and exhibitions appear here and there either in the classrooms, in the studio, in her outdoor home studio, or in a gallery or a museum.

To learn more about her artistic practice, go and check her website.

THE RESIDENCY: Constant Collaboration with Children

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Isabelle Desjeux is the permanent resident artist, founder of the residency inviting other artists, mentoring them in the experimental side of art, and helping them navigate the school environment. Using the space in-between and constantly fostering collaborations with the children, Isabelle Desjeux's experiments, artworks, and exhibitions appear here and there either in the classrooms, in the studio, in her outdoor home studio, or in a gallery or a museum.

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Lin Shiyun - 3 Pumpkins - Tak Takut Kids Club.

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Lin Shiyun - 3 Pumpkins - Tak Takut Kids Club.

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Causes Week, which is into its 10th iteration, runs this year from Dec 21 to 25. It shines a light on various individuals and groups, and shows how they are making a difference through their chosen causes within the community, for children and youth, in sports and arts, among others.

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Causes Week 2021: Boon Lay kids transform their community through art

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Causes Week, which is into its 10th iteration, runs this year from Dec 21 to 25. It shines a light on various individuals and groups, and shows how they are making a difference through their chosen causes within the community, for children and youth, in sports and arts, among others.

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Nitpicking criticism. The Straits Times, 7 February 1992, Page 4.  Della Butcher and Susie Wong

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Nitpicking criticism. The Straits Times, 7 February 1992, Page 4.  Della Butcher and Susie Wong

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Articles from the SPH Media and Mediacorp Press Limited publications provided herein, can be obtained by requesting the National Library Board, Singapore, to provide the same, in strict compliance with the current provisions of the Singapore Copyright Act provisions. The user agrees to comply with this legal condition, the breach of which is contrary to the Copyright Act, Computer Misuse Act and the National Library Board Act. Kindly confirm your understanding of this condition by clicking on the 'I Agree' button.

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Nitpicking criticism READING the article, Jaded Spirit by Susie Wong, (Life!, Jan 17), on the exhibition of paintings by Singapore's leading artist James Tan, I wonder whose spirit is Jaded. To print such criticism is destructive to the efforts made by both artists and promoters. They strive to create m

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Constance Sheares interviewed by T. K. Sabapathy, now available at oralhistoryproject.sg/constance-sheares

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A Review of 251: Welcome to the Intimate Life of Annabel Chong

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A Review of 251: Welcome to the Intimate Life of Annabel Chong

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Picture by Toy Factory.

A Review of 251: Welcome to the Intimate Life of Annabel Chong
By Richard Chua

Date: 8 April 2007
Time: 8 pm
Venue: Esplanade Theatre Studio

251 could have been a deep simple story about the life of Grace Quek, or better known to the world as the Singapore porn star Annabel Chong. But it wasn't. In fact, two stories waited to be told; one of Grace Quek, as the person in flesh, and the other, the constructed persona - Annabel Chong. Each of them brings along different histories, personal or otherwise, ready to be excavated and explored. Instead, playwright Ng Yisheng and director Loretta Chen chose to talk about Singapore art through Annabel's "performance art event" - the world largest gangbang, and taking snipes at Singapore society and politics whenever possible.

The performance seemed to be in conflict with what's been written in the programme booklet. According to the programme notes, 251 strives to "re-enact, construct and re-construct seminal moments in Grace/Annabel's life with regards to her family, friends and society at large." It will also allow the audience to gain an insight into her unknown life as a daughter, friend and lover. Most importantly, it will shed light on "crucial epochs of her life that were to shape her daring exploits - namely her fascination with performance art, her relationship with her family and friends and her gang rape."

There were brief scenes that depicted Grace Quek's adolescence. Clearly, they weren't enough for the audiences to "gain insights" into Grace Quek's life as a daughter and friend. Instead, many scenes were devoted to her "daring exploits" - being a porn star. In trying so, Ng Yisheng and Loretta Chen wanted to use Annabel Chong's act to courage self-reflexivity in Singapore performance art.

A tall order it is, to want to accomplish all of the above in a 90-minute production. Just by dissecting the histories behind every element alone will take more than 90 minutes for sure, let alone tackling issues in Singapore performance art.

As with things in a hurry, the play breezed along, speaking as if there weren't any histories behind the characters, After the first 30 minutes, I couldn't help but to wonder what context was the play framed in, or to be more specific; the main narrative thread of the play. It seemed the plane flight was the one. There could have been actions on the plane that triggered situations in Annabel Chong's life, as so I imagined.

But it wasn't so. Instead it went on a whirlwind tour, pouring everything, which happened in Annabel Chong's life on stage, coupled with references to characters in ancient Rome, China, Sicily etc.

To me, the scenes were mass confusions on stage.

Mother's line (played by Amy Cheng) came as a holler in this instance, " Do not do art that people don't understand!"

Don't get me wrong. It is fine to do incomprehensible art. For the job of an artist is not to create works for easy understanding. However, his/her art should strive to engage the audience, to inspire their interest in them. There is only one element in 251 which inspired me to think more deeply for Grace Quek. It was a line from one of the chorus members - Cheryl Miles - "You can take the girl out of Singapore, but you can't take the Singapore out of the girl."

This is an important point. Grace Quek could be presently in United States working successfully as a web designer, but she brings with her the cultural burden levied upon her by this country. I believe it applies to Josef Ng - former Singapore performance artist in Thailand - as well. This area of analysis is definitely more interesting than just plain re-stating of what has happened in the past, both Annabel Chong's gangbang and Josef Ng's Brother Cane performance. Furthermore, as much as Josef Ng's Brother Cane performance was an important milestone in Singapore performance art history, it should not be regarded as the "only" event that describes Singapore Performance Art. Obviously, 251 made it so, with that example.

Lastly, I would like to seek readers' understanding to allow me make a reference to Arts Writer Ray Langenbach's paper "Looking Back at Brother Cane: Performance Art and State Performance."; published in 1995 The Substation Conference catalogue - Space, Spaces and Spacing. The reference will put Josef Ng's performance in context against Cynthia Lee's final "tofu striking performance" in 251, where her breasts were exposed to the audience.

In his paper, Ray Langenbach included his observations on Josef Ng's performance which had been part of a court affidavit.

"My recollection of the performance "Brother Cane" is as follows (the time indicates the approximate duration of the activity):

15 minutes: Ng, dressed in a long black robe and black briefs, carefully laid out tiles on the floor in a semi-circle. He placed the news cutting, "12 men nabbed in anti-gay operation at Tanjong Rhu" from The Straits Times on each tile. He then carefully placed a block of tofu on each tile, along with a small plastic bag of red dye.

1 minute: Ng crouched behind one tile and read random words from the news cutting.

5 minutes: Ng picked up a child's rotan and striking the floor with it rhythmically, performed a dance, swaying and leaping from side to side, and finally ending in a low crouching posture.

3 minutes: Ng approached the tofu blocks, tapping the rotan rhythmically on the floor, and tapped twice next to each block, striking the bags of red dye and tofu on the third swing.

1 minute: Ng said, " I have heard that clipping hair can also be a form of silent protest" (not verbatim quote), and walked to the far end of the gallery space. Facing the wall with his back to the audience, he then lowered his briefs just below the top of his buttocks and carried out an action I could not see. He returned to the performance space and placed a small amount of hair on the centre tile.

1 minute: Ng asked for a cigarette from the audience, and then had it lit. He smoked a few puffs, then saying, "sometimes silent protest is not enough," stubbed out the cigarette on his arm. He said, "thank you", and put his robe back on. He received enthusiastic applause from the audience. He requested help in cleaning up the tofu. A few members of the audience assisted in this process.

At no time, did Josef Ng expose his genitals to the audience. He carefully faced the back wall of the performance space, about 10-15 meters from the main audience group. No members of the audience were between Ng and the wall he faced. No one actually observed him cut his pubic hair. The audience only became aware of what appeared to be cut hair when Ng placed it on a plate before us."

Ray Langenbach, in his professional opinion, thought Josef Ng's performance was a work of art, was not vulgar, and did not include any vulgar act.

I have not seen Josef Ng's performance so I am not qualified to provide any comments. But I saw actor Cynthia Lee baring her breasts while hurling a walking stick above her, ready to strike the tofu laid before her on the floor. Josef Ng and Cynthia Lee's performances seemed similar, but vastly different in execution.

If Loretta Chen and Ng Yisheng had the intention to re-enact part of Josef Ng's Brother Cane performance on stage, it would be a dangerous move. Cynthia Lee's performance could be seen as vulgar as there was no reference to any context in her actions. Moreover, compared to what Josef Ng did in 1994, Cynthia Lee's performance in the last scene did not, in any way, resemble Josef Ng's Brother Cane performance, nor it attempted to "remember" or "restore" social trauma Grace Quek has suffered.

There are simply too many elements in 251. Each of them has not been fully explored, not to mention deepened. Most seriously, each and everyone of them is problematic. They require more explanations and more thorough thought processes. I would like to end by reiterating my opening remarks - 251 could have been deep simple stories on Grace Quek and Annabel Chong.

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251: Welcome to the Intimate Life of Annabel Chong

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Picture by Toy Factory. A Review of 251: Welcome to the Intimate Life of Annabel Chong By Richard Chua Date: 8 April 2007 Time: 8 pm Venue: Esplanade Theatre Studio 251 could have been a deep simple story about the life of Grace Quek, or better known to the world as the Singapore porn star Annabel Chong.

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[17.09.15 - 17.10.15]

To coincide with the annual Indignation Festival this September, Grey Projects presents 8 Women, a portrait series by social researcher and photographer Grace Baey.

Back in the 1960s and 70s, Bugis Street in Singapore was renowned for its nightly gatherings of flamboyantly dressed trans women. These parades slowly dwindled during the mid-1980s, after major urban redevelopment in the area.

In this series, Baey seeks to recreate the sense of glamour characterised by the Bugis Street era, by photographing trans women in the Rowell and Desker Road vicinity where a substantial portion of the community has since shifted. To capture the women in their environment, Baey invited them to present and pose themselves at street corners that were just a stone's throw away from where they typically hang out.

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Grace Baey (b. 1985) is a Singapore-based photographer with an interest in social issues. A human geographer by training, she turned to photography as a way of engaging with these issues through a more intimate lens. Of interest to her are questions of place, identity, and belonging. Her work deals with issues of social marginalisation, with particular focus on low-waged migrant workers and the transgender community in Singapore. Earlier in 2015, she participated in Objectifs' annual Shooting Home mentorship programme, as well as the Foundry Photojournalism Workshop in Bali.

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8 Women by Grace Baey [2015] - Grey Projects

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17.09.15 - 17.10.15] To coincide with the annual Indignation Festival this September, Grey Projects presents 8 Women , a portrait series by social researcher and photographer Grace Baey. Back in the 1960s and 70s, Bugis Street in Singapore was renowned for its nightly gatherings of flamboyantly

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Gender Hierarchy, a group exhibition featuring artists InYoung Yeo, TcoET (Dew Kim & Luciano Zubillaga), Stephanie Jane Burt and Priyageetha Dia.

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[14.09.18 - 18.10.18]

Artists: InYoung Yeo, TcoET (Dew Kim & Luciano Zubillaga), Stephanie Jane Burt, Priyageetha Dia

Grey Projects is proud to be collaborating with Space One to present Gender Hierarchy, a group exhibition featuring artists InYoung Yeo, TcoET (Dew Kim & Luciano Zubillaga), Stephanie Jane Burt and Priyageetha Dia.

As conversations on equality, protections and rights for women gain in complexity, what constitutes gender injustices consequently continues to evolve. This evolution catalyses the need for society to continually question and challenge the norms that confined all of us. Through performance/video, photography, mixed-media and sculptural installation works, the artists offer interpretations of the many channels through which gender roles pervasively dictate people's behaviours in modern society. Each artist addresses what gender hierarchy means to them, from the subtle influence of internalised misogyny to the overt hyper-sexualization of advertising and culture.

In Birth, Dia explores the unwitting co-optation of misogyny by women in occupying and repeating, across many generations, the roles of both victim and fellow-oppressor. From family elders' dubious praise of soft-spokenness and domestication, to the metaphor of a passively pliable youth, these expressions create a never-ending cycle of self-effacement. Through a filmic photo series, Dia seeks to reverse this self-effacement through a visual confrontation of bold, layered dichotomies. The subject: the female form, nude, gold-clad, within a public housing environment. Gold - its sacredness, ritual and deification - is made to face the ordinariness of a housing estate. Dia also turns the fragile vulnerability of a female nude, often limited to private domestic spaces, onto the openness of a public one. Resplendent in gold, the nude figure does not shy from the viewer but demands its attention.

Me Gustas tú by TcoET (Dew Kim and Luciano Zubillaga)is an experimental 3D stereo K-pop video. It retains the typical elements of K-pop- the melody, choreography, sexy outfits, aegyo (cute displays of affection often displayed through facial expressions and body gestures)-yet simultaneously subverts these elements to deliver a bizarre juxtaposition of a capella singing against a disturbing dystopian visual and aural backdrop of constant and total war. This war is presented through animation and film, from the imagined camera perspective of missile strikes to footage filmed aboard a decommissioned Royal Navy submarine in a former British imperial dockyard. Selected for the Post-Cyber Feminist International week, this film proposes a new form of deploying K-pop towards queer aesthetics - from phallocentricity to full cyberfeminist telepathy.

Highlighting the imbalanced geometry of gendered body relationships, InYoung Yeo's 0 inclination questions the expectation of "submission" and the general passive inclination of the so-called "second sex". The work touches on three aspects: the active and passive patterns in gender roles, the binary ideologies of verticality versus horizontality, and tunnel vision brought on by stereotyping. Yeo materially realises these concepts as literal patterned vertical and horizontal "tunnels", whose insides are lined with a web of ambiguous geometric shapes, seemingly figures even, suggestive of fragmented nude body parts. Against this kaleidoscopic backdrop, mobile phones loop GIFs of abstract graphics drawn from pornography across various Korean sites as well as material categorised as "Asian" in the West.

Burt's installation, Belle De Jour, is titled after the iconic 1967 film by Luis Buñuel. The film follows a young reserved housewife who, unable to fulfil her masochistic fantasies with her dutiful husband, starts secretly working at a high class brothel under the pseudonym Belle De Jour. Burt blends colour, material and symbolism to subliminally evoke the tear in Belle's psyche as she traverses between her two lives. to her left: white, purity, rope, binding, chains, ownership. To her right: black, corruption, lace, sensuality, fragility. These materials portray Belle's perspectives, conflating the conservative sexual practices of her assigned gender and societal role as an obedient housewife with boredom, and conflating sexual liberty with a rebellion against such norms.

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InYoung Yeo is an independent artist, curator and director based in Seoul. With various forms of visual, verbal, textual to performative forms of interviews manifested into visual patterns and textual formulas, her work draws its structure from complex layers of the 'mind' and coincidences in the multi-dimensional time and space. She has put together and participated in various projects, exhibitions, residencies, talks and workshops in Korea, Japan, Taiwan, Germany, UK, US among others. Some of her projects and exhibitions include Space One project Intersections of Common Space and Time with Seoul Art Foundation, Goethe-Institut Seoul; Seoul Digital Foundation, Seoul Data Science Lab Project A.I.MAGINE with Seoul City, Seoul National University; 'a three-way dialogue' with the Seoul Biennale of Architecture and Urbanism 2017; East Asia Goethe-Institut project A Better Version of 人 programs in Korea; Group Exhibitions A Free Breakfast, Multitude, Bare; and Solo Exhibitions Space, Visual Interview and Self.

Dew Kim (Aka HornyHoneydew) is a South Korean artist based in Seoul. He works with sculpture, moving image, installation and performance. His practice involves sexuality, queerness, feminism, sadomasochism, pop culture, religion, mysticism, and the body as forms of knowledge and research. Dew is a co-founder of the experimental art collective TcoET (The Church of Expanded Telepathy). He exhibited work at The Institute of Contemporary Art (ICA), Camden Arts Centre, London, Haus am Lützowplatz Art, Berlin and Art Space Grove, Seoul. He graduated from Royal College of Art, MA Sculpture, and completed the residency program at Cité Internationale des Arts, Paris (2015) and Pilotenkueche, Leipzig (2017).

Luciano Zubillaga is an artist and scholar based in London since 1993 and now working between London and Suzhou, China. He works with sound, moving image, drawing, text and performance. His work involves transdisciplinary research in the intersections of philosophy, science and collaborative art practice. He recently exhibited work at the Institute of Contemporary Art (ICA), the Whitechapel Art Gallery, London and Image Movement, Berlin. His first feature film, Things to Come is based on the graphic score Ongilasch composed by Luis Zubillaga and narrated by German star Hanna Schygulla. In 2008, he received the London Artist Film and Video Awards (LAFVA) by the Arts Council of England and his work is part of the British Artists' Film and Video Study Collection (BAFVS). Luciano is a co-founder of the experimental art collective TcoET (The Church of Expanded Telepathy). He has given public lectures internationally including Ewha Womens University, Seoul, University of Buenos Aires, John Cabot University, Rome and Beijing World Congress of Philosophy.

Stephanie Jane Burt is an artist whose practice spans from sculptural installations to fictional prose. She completed her studies at Glasgow School of Art where she received her Bachelor of Arts (Hons) Painting in 2012 and her Master of Fine Arts in 2014. She moved back to Singapore in 2015, where she currently works and resides.

Her work invites the viewer to explore dialogues between her installations and their settings through a fictional narrative at times referencing film and literature. She is currently invested in feminist readings of mother-daughter relations, dynamics of female friendships and the analysis and representation of Girl culture.

Priyageetha Dia is a multi-disciplinary Singaporean artist whose practice leans towards site-specific guerilla installations. By bridging the banality of spaces and the act of subversion using gold mediums, her interventions question the morality of art in Singapore. Dia is known for her controversial public work The Golden Staircase in 2017 and the recent installation of Golden Flags at a public housing this year in March 2018.

Dia has been actively showcasing her works since 2017, including a collaboration with The Substation for Discipline the City campaign and a chapbook publication titled A Public Square by Singaporean author Adeline Chia. In addition, she has done several press interviews, including a feature in FEMALE Magazine's F-Influential List in the November 2017 issue. She was also a panel speaker for ArtScience Museum's Art from the Streets opening event in January 2018.

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14.09.18 - 18.10.18] Artists: InYoung Yeo, TcoET (Dew Kim & Luciano Zubillaga), Stephanie Jane Burt, Priyageetha Dia Grey Projects is proud to be collaborating with Space One to present Gender Hierarchy , a group exhibition featuring artists InYoung Yeo, TcoET (Dew Kim & Luciano

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Ho Soon Yeen is a pioneering queer Singaporean artist, now based in Canada

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Ho Soon Yeen is a pioneering queer Singaporean artist, now based in Canada[1]. She emerged in the Singapore art scene in 1992 with assemblage, installation and performance art, and a significant series of nude self-portrait gestural ink drawings, which were self-reflective and posed questions to the viewer on the social role of being a womyn. As a result of personal and work commitments, her involvement in the art scene was intermittent. A total hysterectomy made Ho re-assess her life and fall in love with it.

A constant yearning and longing within guided her to return to the mode of expression she was most familiar, namely art. The concept and theme of a subject would usually pique her interest first, and then the medium was chosen according to how best the idea could be expressed given different constraints. Womyn's issues, daily happenings and queries about life and society are still her topics for expression. In the early 2010s, Ho was on the move quite a bit with her MacBook and camera, so photography was the medium chosen to document some landmark facets of her life. Photoshop was used to digitally manipulate the composition, value, colour and texture of the symbolic subject matter to express the layers of realities and complexities of her journey.

In 1992, Ho, together with Dominique Hui staged an exhibition entitled, " We Kissed" at The Substation. It was part of the New Criteria 1 series of art exhibitions and ran from the 28 August 1992 to 22 September 1992. One of the paintings on display was, " Monkey + Thinker", a self-portrait[2]. In January 2017, the painting was again showcased to the public at the NUS Museum's Radio Malaya exhibition. Another photograph showed a man, apparently a priest who is wearing an oversized cross as a necklace, meeting teenagers[3].

Media Series, a platform for audio and video artworks, Plastique Kinetic Worms (PKW), Singapore, 2002.

Trivial Matters, a multimedia visual art exhibition, The Art Gallery, Nanyang Technological University (NTU) / National Institute of Education (NIE), Singapore, 2002.

Exhibition Participant, International Symposium on Public Engaged Art, The Substation, Singapore, 2002.

Blk 124 Kim Tian Place, Nokia Singapore Art 2001, Singapore Art Museum (SAM) and Blk 124 Kim Tian Place, Singapore, 2001.

Ephphatha, BA Yr 4 graduating art exhibition, The Art Gallery, Nanyang Technological University (NTU) / National Institute of Education (NIE), Singapore, 2001.

Women Beyond Borders (Singapore), Sculpture Square, Singapore, 2001.

A Retrospect, BA Yr 3 art exhibition, The Red Door Gallery, Nanyang Technological University (NTU) / National Institute of Education (NIE), Singapore, 2001.

Publicity Poster and Zocard Designer, The Vaginalogue, a one-woman play organized by DramaBox, The Substation, Singapore, 2000.

HOPE, an affiliate exhibition in Nokia Singapore Art 1999, CHIJMES, Singapore, 2001.

Nokia Singapore Art 1999, Open Section, Singapore Art Museum (SAM), Singapore, 2000.

Curator, M1 Youth Connection: Engaging the World, an art exhibition organized by The Necessary Stage, PARCO Bugis Junction, Singapore, 1998.

1997 International Printmaking Fanfare, Nanyang Technological University (NTU) / National Institute of Education (NIE), Singapore, 1997.

Drawing: Propositions and Possibilities, Penrith Regional Gallery and The Lewers Bequest, New South Wales, Australia, 1997.

Artists in Education / Education in Art, Nanyang Technological University (NTU) / National Institute of Education (NIE), Singapore Art Museum (SAM), Singapore, 1996.

Body Fields, a performance at a year-end, 12-hr event at the Fifth Passage Art Gallery, Singapore, 1992.

My Pen is in your hand. Your Pen is in my hand, a solo performance during a performance event at Gallery 21, Singapore, 1992.

The Space, a Singapore Arts Festival Fringe Event organized by The Artist Village, Hong Bee Warehouse, Singapore, 1992.

Her Identity, a group performance at The Space, Singapore Arts Festival Fringe Event, Hong Bee Warehouse, Singapore, 1992.

Women, Space & Objects, a group performance at the National Sculpture Exhibition, The National Museum Gallery, Singapore, 1991.

This article was written by Roy Tan.

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Ho Soon Yeen is a pioneering queer Singaporean artist, now based in Canada[1]. She emerged in the Singapore art scene in 1992 with assemblage, installation and performance art, and a significant series of nude self-portrait gestural ink drawings, which were self-reflective and posed questions to the viewer on the social role of being a womyn.

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Founded and published by Viviana Mejia

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Feminist Rants Vol. 2
Viviana Mejía

Publisher * Viviana Mejia
Year * 2016
Pages * 100

Feminist Rant is a collective of women who have created this zine as an outlet of expression of their thoughts and grievances. Each of the participants engages with a broad scope of mediums to translate their opinions. Feminist Rant plays on the notion of derogatory nature the feminist discourse has acquired in later years and wants to defy this trope by appropriating it and redefining it.

Editor and founder: Viviana Mejía
Designer and contributor: Soph O

Contributors:
A&V
@adult_e_rated
Alex T
Alicia Lazzaroni
Ana Maria Montoya
Andrea Fam
Andree Weschler
Bubble Gum & Death Metal
Caitlin Hofer
Carolina Mejia
Dnne Ojeda
Elke Reinhuber
Euginia Tan
Footwerk
Genevieve Chua
Kathleen Ditzig
Liana Yang
Lucy Davis
Mahala Taylor
Mhairi-Clare Fitzpatrick
Milena Arango
Nora Taylor
Rachel Jordan
Sam Lo / SKLO
Samantha Yap
Sidd Perez
Soonkoon Ang
Soph O
Stephanie Burt
Sylvia Tsai
Tang Ling Nah
Wee Lin Li

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Feminist Rants Vol. 2 Viviana Mejía Publisher * Viviana Mejia Year * 2016 Pages * 100 Feminist Rant is a collective of women who have created this zine as an outlet of expression of their thoughts and grievances.

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Founded and published by Viviana Mejia

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Publisher * Viviana Mejia
Year * 2015
Pages * 44

Feminist Rant is a collective of women who have created this zine as an outlet of expression of their thoughts and grievances. Each of the participants engages with a broad scope of mediums to translate their opinions. Feminist Rant plays on the notion of derogatory nature the feminist discourse has acquired in later years and wants to defy this trope by appropriating it and redefining it.

Editor and founder: Viviana Mejía
Designer and contributor: Izzy Liyana Harris

Contributors:
María Arango
Izyanti Asa'ari
Shannon Lee Castleman
Christina Chua
Joan Clair
Lucy Davis
Izzy Liyana Harris
Rachel Jordan
Alicia Lazzaroni
Carolina Mejía
Vera Mey
Ana María Montoya
soph O
Eileen Anastasia Reynolds
Mahala Scott
Adele Tan
Joanne Tan
Wee Li Lin
Andrée Weschler
Liana Yang
June Yap

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Feminist Rant Vol. 1 Viviana Mejia Publisher * Viviana Mejia Year * 2015 Pages * 44 Feminist Rant is a collective of women who have created this zine as an outlet of expression of their thoughts and grievances.

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Annaratnam Gunaratnam (1913–2008) was one of Singapore's earliest women sculptors. After graduating from the College of Arts and Crafts in Madras, Gunaratnam came to Malaya where she held her first solo exhibition in 1939. Together with Georgette Chen, she was an active member of Singapore Art Society and an important arts educator, yet little is known about her.

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Marla Bendini. Stop Looking Back / You're Not Going That Way /Trust Where Life is Taking You. 4 January 2023. 20 mins.Live performance.  

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For exhibition "Desire is Dead", curated by Adele Tan, as part of Open House's For the House Against the House project at Tanglin Shopping Centre during SAW 2023. 5 - 15 January 2023. https://ohopenhouse.org/FTHATH-2023

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https://acidiq.wordpress.com/about/

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T:>Works, ‘Thamizhachi: a digital museum of Tamil Women under construction’

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T:>Works, ‘Thamizhachi: a digital museum of Tamil Women under construction’

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‘Thamizhachi: a digital museum of Tamil Women under construction’ is a Brown Voices project, presented under T:>Works’ N.O.W. festival 2021. The presentation of this digital museum is also extended in Rasanai, a lecture-performance, under the same festival.

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Welcome to this exploration of

the Tamil woman in Singapore as she is
imagined, illustrated, identified,

deliberated, disputed, displayed,

collected, curated, constructed... by herself.

சிங்கப்பூரில் உள்ள தமிழ் பெண், தன்னைப் பற்றி தானே

கற்பனை செய்து, விளக்கமளித்து, அடையாளம் கண்டு,

திட்டமிட்டு, விவாதித்து, சித்தரித்து,

சேகரித்து, நிர்வகித்து, தானே கட்டிய

இந்த ஆய்வுப்பயணத்திற்கு உங்களை வரவேற்கிறோம்.

Our world is material. Here are some objects that occupy the worlds, move the lives, and tell the stories of Singaporean Tamil women. These are a part of the ever-evolving assemblage of the Thamizhachi, perpetually 'under construction'.

பொருள்வகையால் உருவானதே நம் உலகம். சிங்கப்பூர் தமிழ் பெண்களின் உலகை ஆக்கிரமித்து, வாழ்க்கையை வழி நடத்தி, அவர்களின் கதைகளைச் சொல்லும் சில பொருட்கள் இங்கே உள்ளன. இவை நிரந்தர கட்டுமானத்தில் உள்ள, வளர்ந்து வரும் தமிழச்சியின் சேகரிப்பில் ஒரு பகுதியாகும்.

The Singaporean Tamil woman is not a singular type of person. Here are some Thamizhachis, who are each 'Singaporean', 'Tamil', and 'woman' in ways shared, and of their own making. These profiles include the collaborating participants and creators of this digital museum. Several additional persons are highlighted as 'Singaporean Tamil women,' whose faces, lives, and work are also those of this community.

சிங்கை தமிழ் பெண் என்பவள், ஒற்றை வகையான நபர் அல்ல. 'சிங்கப்பூரர்', 'தமிழரர்', மற்றும் 'பெண்' என்ற அடையாளங்களை பகிர்ந்து கொண்டு, தம் அடையாளங்களை சுயமாக தயாரித்த சில தமிழச்சிகள் இங்கே உள்ளனர். இந்த சுயவிவரங்களில், நமது இலக்கமுறை அருங்காட்சியகத்திற்கு ஒத்துழைத்த பங்கேற்பாளர்கள் மற்றும் படைப்பாளிகள் உள்ளனர். பல கூடுதல் நபர்களின் முகங்கள், வாழ்க்கைகள் மற்றும் தொழிலும் இந்த சமூகத்தை சார்ந்துள்ளதால், அவர்களும் 'சிங்கை தமிழச்சிகளாக' இங்கே சிறப்பிக்கப்படுகிறார்கள்.

The Construction

​

'Thamizhachi: a digital museum of Tamil Women under construction' is a Brown Voices project, presented under T:>Works' N.O.W. festival 2021. The presentation of this digital museum is also extended in Rasanai, a lecture-performance, under the same festival.

Thamizhachi and Rasanai are conceptualised by curator-researcher Vithya Subramaniam, and supported by the directorial work of Grace Kalaiselvi, and Raj Thiagaras' writing and translations. This team from Brown Voices extends their appreciation to N.O.W. festival director Noorlinah Mohamed, and intern Sai Lalitha Aiyer for their support, work, and excitement over these many months.

The digital museum was put together through a series of consultative workshops conducted with twenty-two self-identified 'Singaporean Tamil women'. The museum features their comments on all objects, as well as some objects highlighted and contributed by them. The team thanks our participants for trusting us with their ideas, stories, and enthusiasm for this museum. The participants and their individual ways of being a Thamizhachi form the basis of the 'Persons' page.

இந்த கட்டுமானம்

"தமிழச்சி: கட்டுமானத்தில் உள்ள, தமிழ் பெண்ணின் இலக்கமுறை அருங்காட்சியகம்", T:>Works நிறுவனத்தின் N.O.W. 2021 விழாவின் ஒரு அங்கமாக, Brown Voices குழுவால் படைக்கப்படுகிறது. இந்த இலக்கமுறை அருங்காட்சியகத்தின் படைப்பு, இதே விழாவில் இடம்பெறும் "ரசனை" எனும் விரிவுரை நிகழ்ச்சியிலும் நீடிக்கும்.

"தமிழச்சி" மற்றும் "ரசனை", பொருட்காட்சி மேற்பார்வையாளர் மற்றும் ஆராய்ச்சியாளர் வித்யா சுப்ரமணியத்தால் கருத்துருவாக்கம் கொண்டு, கிரேஸ் கலைச்செல்வியின் இயக்கம் மற்றும் ராஜ்குமார் தியாகராஸின் எழுத்து மற்றும் மொழிபெயர்ப்பு சேவையால் மெருகேறியுள்ளன. இத்தனை மாதங்களாக நமக்கு ஒத்துழைப்பு கொடுத்து ஊக்கமளித்த N.O.W. விழா இயக்குனரான நூர்லினா முகம்மது மற்றும் உள்ளுறைவாளர் சாய் லலிதா அய்யர் அவர்களுக்கு இந்த Brown Voices குழு நன்றி கூற கடமைப்பட்டுள்ளது.

'சிங்கப்பூர் தமிழ் பெண்கள்' என்று சுய அடையாளம் கண்ட இருபத்தி இரண்டு பெண்களுடன் நடத்தப்பட்ட தொடர் ஆலோசனை பட்டறைகள் மூலம் இந்த இலக்கமுறை அருங்காட்சியகம் உருவானது. அனைத்து பொருட்களைப் பற்றி அவர்கள் பகிர்ந்துகொண்ட கருத்துக்களும், அவர்களால் முன்னிலைப்படுத்தப்பட்டு தருவித்த சில பொருட்களும் அருங்காட்சியகத்தில் இடம்பெற்றுள்ளன. இந்த அருங்காட்சியகத்திற்கான அவர்களின் கருத்துக்கள், கதைகள் மற்றும் உற்சாகம் அனைத்தும் எங்களை நம்பி தாராளமாக பகிர்ந்த எங்கள் பங்கேற்பாளர்களுக்கு நமது குழு தங்களின் மனமார்ந்த நன்றியை தெரிவிக்கிறது. நமது பங்கேற்பாளர்களும், தமிழச்சியாக இருப்பதற்கான அவர்களின் தனிப்பட்ட வழிகளும் 'நபர்கள்' பக்கத்தின் அடிப்படையாக அமைகின்றன.

The Museum

This digital museum is a work-ever-in-progress that seeks, in part, to spotlight and remedy the 'invisibility' of the Singaporean Tamil woman in the narratives, memories, spaces, cultural productions, and popular discourse of her own nation.

The lives, stories, and presence of these women assert right of place and legitimacy by leveraging on the authority of the museum form. However, objects are not simply selected on some notion of aesthetic or cultural 'value'. Instead, the objects of this museum consciously refuse essentialised, homogenised, and/or tokenistic representations of the diverse ways of being a Singaporean Tamil woman.

The objects in this museum are everyday objects. They are things that are part of the Singaporean Tamil woman's everyday, and of several other everydays in Singapore. In highlighting such objects, this museum underscores that the lives of racial and gender minorities are no less present in the same things many others use, make, buy, want, keep, give, and share. Their lives, though, move in its own rhythms around and through these objects, carving distinct memories and meaning with these materials.

The Thamizhachi is present in everyday things, in everyday spaces, in Singapore's everyday. The Thamizhachi is a construction-ever-in-progress, she is not to be reduced to a token, her presence is not to be passed over.

இந்த அருங்காட்சியகம்

கதைகள், நினைவுகள், இடங்கள், கலாச்சார தயாரிப்புகள் மற்றும் தனது சொந்த தேசத்தின் பிரபல பிரசங்கங்களின் மூலமாக, சிங்கப்பூர் தமிழ் பெண்ணின் 'கண்ணுக்குத் தெரியாத தன்மையை' கவனத்திற்கு கொண்டு வந்து, அதற்கு தீர்வு காண முற்படுவதே இந்த இலக்கமுறை அருங்காட்சியகத்தின் என்றும் தொடரும் பணியாகும்.

அருங்காட்சியக வடிவத்தின் அதிகாரத்தை பயன்படுத்தி, இந்த பெண்களின் வாழ்க்கை, கதைகள் மற்றும் இருப்பு ஆகியவற்றுக்கு இடம் மற்றும் சட்டபூர்வமான உரிமை வழங்கப்படுகின்றன. இருப்பினும், அழகியல் அல்லது கலாச்சார 'மதிப்பு' குறித்த சில கருத்துக்களின் அடிப்படையில் மட்டும் இப்பொருட்கள் வெறுமனே தேர்ந்தெடுக்கப்படவில்லை. அதற்கு மாறாக, இந்த அருங்காட்சியகத்தின் பொருட்கள் ஒரு சிங்கப்பூர் தமிழ் பெண்ணாக இருப்பதற்கான பன்முகத்தன்மை கொண்ட அடையாளங்களில் அத்தியாவசியமான, ஒரே விதமான மற்றும் பெயரளவில் மட்டும் செயல்படும் அடையாளங்களுக்கு உணர்வுபூர்வமான வகையில் மறுப்பு தெரிவிக்கின்றன.

இந்த அருங்காட்சியகத்தில் உள்ள பொருட்கள், அன்றாட பொருட்களே. அவை சிங்கப்பூர் தமிழ் பெண்ணின் தினசரி வாழ்க்கையின் ஒரு பகுதியாகும், சிங்கப்பூரில் உள்ள பல தினசரி வாழ்க்கை விஷயங்களை சார்ந்தும் உள்ளன. அன்றாட பொருள்களை முன்னிலைப்படுத்துவதன் மூலம், இன மற்றும் பாலின சிறுபான்மையினரின் வாழ்க்கையானது பலர் பயன்படுத்தும், தயாரிக்கும், வாங்கும், விரும்பும், வைத்திருக்கும், கொடுக்கும் மற்றும் பகிர்ந்து கொள்ளும் அதே விஷயங்களிலும் எந்தவித குறைப்பாடும் இல்லை என்பதை இந்த அருங்காட்சியகம் அடிக்கோடிட்டுக் காட்டுகிறது. இருப்பினும், அவர்களின் வாழ்க்கை இந்த பொருட்களுடன் தனித்துவமான நினைவுகளையும் பொருளையும் செதுக்கி, இந்த பொருள்களைச் சுற்றியும் அதன் மூலமாகவும் அதன் சொந்த தாளங்களில் நகர்கிறது.

தமிழச்சி என்பவள் அன்றாட விஷயங்களில், அன்றாட இடைவெளிகளில், சிங்கப்பூரின் அன்றாட வாழ்க்கை முறையில் நிறைந்துள்ளாள். தமிழச்சி என்பவள் எப்போதும் முன்னேறிக் கொண்டிருக்கும் ஒரு கட்டுமானம். அவளை ஒரு குறி அடையாளமாகக் குறைக்கவோ, அவளுடைய இருப்பை கடந்து செல்லவோ முற்படக்கூடாது.

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Welcome to this exploration of the Tamil woman in Singapore as she is imagined, illustrated, identified, deliberated, disputed, displayed, collected, curated, constructed... by herself. சிங்கப்பூரில் உள்ள தமிழ் பெண், தன்னைப் பற்றி தானே கற்பனை செய்து, விளக்கமளித்து, அடையாளம் கண்டு, திட்டமிட்டு, விவாதித்து, சித்தரித்து, சேகரித்து, நிர்வகித்து, தானே கட்டிய இந்த ஆய்வுப்பயணத்திற்கு உங்களை வரவேற்கிறோம். Our world is material.

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Lina Adam, 'Experience the Culinary History of Singapore Performance Art re-presented by Lina Adam'

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Lina Adam, 'Experience the Culinary History of Singapore Performance Art re-presented by Lina Adam'

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Experience the culinary history of Singapore Performance Art re-presented by Lina Adam

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Mi Casa Su Casa proudly presents 'Experience the Culinary History of Singapore Performance Art re-presented by Lina Adam'. You are invited to this live event which will begin at 7pm. Some light...

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Kumari is a prominent artist in Southeast Asia. Her practice encompasses inter-disciplinary genres, painting, sculpture and installations. She has forged a reputation for effectively reconciling the language of "international contemporary art" with her own vocabulary and developing a visual identity that is decisively shaped by her cultural roots and beliefs.

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Kumari is a prominent artist in Southeast Asia. Her practice encompasses inter-disciplinary genres, painting, sculpture and installations. She has forged a reputation for effectively reconciling the language of "international contemporary art" with her own vocabulary and developing a visual identity that is decisively shaped by her cultural roots and beliefs.

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signs of a nest 2017
An installation by Susan Sentler
Institute of Contemporary Arts Singapore
Brother Joseph McNally Gallery
https://vimeo.com/manage/videos/246253086

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THE YOUNG BODY UNIVERSE: Charmaine Poh and collaborators

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THE YOUNG BODY UNIVERSE: Charmaine Poh and collaborators

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https://charmainepoh.com/

https://www.goethe.de/ins/sg/en/kul/eof/young-bodies.html

THE YOUNG BODY UNIVERSE is a series of enactments considering the potentialities of the feminist techno-body.

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charmaine poh

is an artist working across media and performance to peel apart, interrogate, and hold ideas of agency, repair, and the body across worlds. her current focus, THE YOUNG BODY UNIVERSE, is a series of enactments considering the potentialities of the feminist techno-body. she is based between berlin and singapore. she is a co-founder of jom.

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is an artist working across media and performance to peel apart, interrogate, and hold ideas of agency, repair, and the body across worlds. her current focus, THE YOUNG BODY UNIVERSE, is a series of enactments considering the potentialities of the feminist techno-body. she is based between berlin and singapore.

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Objectifs: Women in Film & Photography Showcase

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Objectifs: Women in Film & Photography Showcase

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https://www.objectifs.com.sg/tag/wifp/

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The Women in Film & Photography Showcase is our annual celebration of extraordinary and groundbreaking works by women photographers and filmmakers, highlighting the important contributions that women make to the arts. Over the last few years, we have explored themes ranging from Collective Power to Remedy for Rage, sharing intimate yet powerful stories about communities that deal with critical issues such as politics, inequality, gender, sexuality, and cultural identity.

Since 2015, Objectifs has presented the works of more than 90 photographers and 49 filmmakers, commissioned 6 new works, and hosted 13 artists-in-residence, and has collaborated with organisations like Magnum Foundation, Women Photograph and the Asian Women Photographers' Showcase.

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Women in Film and Photography Archives - OBJECTIFS

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The Women in Film & Photography Showcase is our annual celebration of extraordinary and groundbreaking works by women photographers and filmmakers, highlighting the important contributions that women make to the arts. Over the last few years, we have explored themes ranging from Collective Power to Remedy for Rage, sharing intimate yet powerful stories about communities that deal with critical issues such as politics, inequality, gender, sexuality, and cultural identity.

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Chu Chu Yuan, Collaborative and Socially Engaged Art

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Chu Chu Yuan, Collaborative and Socially Engaged Art

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https://chuchuyuan.wordpress.com/about/

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Adeline Kueh, Divaagar, ila, Seet Yun Teng, Michelle Lim | Heritage Fest Singapore | Living Legacies

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Living Legacies (NHB-Plural Art Singapore Heritage Fest 2021)

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Living Legacies (NHB-Plural Art Singapore Heritage Fest 2021)

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https://pluralartmag.com/2021/05/03/being-healthy-and-keeping-well-what-traditional-healing-practices-can-teach-us/

Living Legacies, In Sickness and In Health, we look at health, wellness and healing through the lens of art. Contemporary artists Adeline Kueh, Divaagar and ila were each invited to explore aspects of traditional healing practices, and respond to them in three newly commissioned digital artworks.

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Adeline Kueh | Heritage Fest Singapore | Living Legacies

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Join us in this digital collaboration with Heritage Board Singapore for Heritage Fest Singapore 2021 alongside artists like Adeline Kueh, ila and Divaagar.

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Adeline Kueh, “Pontianak & her sisters” lecture for SeptFest 2016, The Substation (25 Sept 2016)

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Adeline Kueh, “Pontianak & her sisters” lecture for SeptFest 2016, The Substation (25 Sept 2016)

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http://www.post-museum.org/survey/2016/09/25/pontianak-her-sisters-25-sept/

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Adeline Kueh makes installations and socially embodied works that reconsider the relationship we have with things and rituals around us. Using drawing as a conceptual tool, Adeline looks to cartographies, craft and oral tradition to map out the historical trajectories across time and space with her use of found objects and new productions.

As a co-founder of the Critical Craft Collective (Singapore) and the pan-Borneo Serumpun Collective, the centrality of craft in contemporary practice as well as the politics of care are the core focus in her research practice.

Presently a Senior Lecturer with the MA Fine Arts programme at LASALLE College of the Arts, Adeline has exhibited internationally. She was involved in the Word-of-Mouth exhibition in Venice Biennale (2019), Passion Made Possible Culture Shaper Tribe films (Singapore Tourism Board, 2019), the World Architecture Festival (2016-7), and Hermes Singapore (2016). In 2021, Adeline was a part of Singapore Tyler Print Institute’s Visiting Artist Programme Residency.

www.adelinekueh.com

Image: “The big and small of things” (with Ariyana Samuji), 2021. Presented in S.E.A. Focus 2023 with STPI Gallery. Photo by Darren Soh.

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https://delia.prvacki.com/en--/1.html

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Singapore
Institute of Contemporary Arts, LASALLE College of the Arts
Entering Delia Prvački's solo exhibition "Cornucopia-of abundance and giving," I was struck by the air of medieval art and life charmingly represented in mosaics, metalwork, ceramics, textiles, and ivories. Drawing on the opulent art of the Middle Ages, the Romania-born, Singapore-based artist focused on storytelling, composition, and richness of effect, her aesthetic preference for visual abundance most evident in her use of ornamentation. This is medieval "body language." Decoration and narration, far more than realism, characterized these works.

The word "cornucopia," the quality of abundance and nourishment, comes from the Latin cornu copiae, meaning "horn of plenty." Prvački's pieces surrounded various versions of the ornamental container, which dates from ancient Greece. Grand Classic Cornucopia (2020) took the celebrated horn as its starting point, overflowing with life-size fruit and vegetables spread out on a wooden tabletop. The viewer's senses were immediately overwhelmed by the profusion of ceramic gourds, papayas, cabbages, beetroots, onions, radishes, garlic, and cauliflower set amid shards and bits of earthen crockery. The spectacle presented a masterful still-life.

EXUBERANT (Long Cornucopia) (2020) suggested the medieval fascination with small objects fashioned from precious materials and echoed the level of their technical skill and manual dexterity. Arrayed in loose series on a long trough, snaking strips of beads and colorful grains made of glazed stoneware, grog, and other materials crept out of a large horn, its bold and vibrant colors simulating gem-like effects. Tapestries and other textiles also featured prominently. A cornucopia motif sat on the richly designed DELICATE (2020), and in its reworking, Unicorn-Utopia # 2 (2020), a pattern of sweeping silk folds (carved in glazed stoneware) flowed out from the ornamented container. The delicate, cornucopia-shaped elements of the ivory-toned Double Happiness (2020) and TRIPTYCH (2020)-pearly, lustrous, and vulnerable-tentatively rubbed up against one another, propped on pristine white surfaces or reflective glass mirrors, placed eye level on gallery walls.

Archaeology of Cornucopia (2020) and Allegory of a Myth (2021), together comprising an installation of three archaeologically inspired "troughs," seemed to offer an instructive parable about the nature of Prvački's sculptural work, which is driven by her interest in history, ethnography, and geology. Two of the troughs held a miscellaneous assortment of mosaics formed of numerous small colored cubes or irregularly shaped objects, their decorative designs and symbolism reminiscent of Byzantine and early Christian styles. The last composition featured over a dozen petite cornucopia motifs stuffed with what appear to be patterned fabrics. Made from glazed stoneware, stains, oxides, pigments, earth grog, and fabrics, among other materials, this installation, which the artist refers to as a "fictional archaeology museum," alludes to how ceramics have been excavated, while also providing a sense of the aesthetic values of long-vanished peoples, fragments of ancient imaginations.

There was something engaging about Terracotta (2020)-maybe it was the appeal of the material (typically used for flower pots) and the impact it made on me at first sight, but I wanted to touch it and feel the textures. An overturned earthenware bowl spilled out a handful of small, shell-like pebbles onto a leather-hard, grid-like mosaic tabletop made up of hundreds of tiny, colored tiles.

Terracotta, All-Time Cornucopia (2021), and other works all employed the type of decorative mosaics that flourished from Roman times well into the Byzantine and medieval eras. As the eye moved across their surfaces, there were pleasurable relations of color, tone, and shape to explore-a juxtaposition of red and green patches or an opposition of orange and violet in the manner of a folk textile. Equally significant was the inclusion into the entire sculptural ensemble of a suspended, mirror-like stainless steel cone that reflected colored "rays" from the mosaics and exuded dynamic energy. The shapes, colors, and materials within "Cornucopia-of abundance and giving" evoked the rich history of the decorative arts, particularly those of the Middle Ages, revitalized by Prvački who has brought medieval "body language" into contact with new materials and current lived experience.

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Singapore Institute of Contemporary Arts, LASALLE College of the Arts Entering Delia Prvački's solo exhibition "Cornucopia-of abundance and giving," I was struck by the air of medieval art and life charmingly represented in mosaics, metalwork, ceramics, textiles, and ivories.

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Four of 56 pen and ink drawings exhibited as part of It's Complicated Somehow, The Substation. 21-30 July 20. Curated by Woon Tien Wei. 

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https://www.pratajournal.com/excess-baggage

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Claire Wu: Lucy Davis on Crediting Connections of Influences, Strategies of Community Wellbeing and the Erosion of Nature-Culture Mixes

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Claire Wu: Lucy Davis on Crediting Connections of Influences, Strategies of Community Wellbeing and the Erosion of Nature-Culture Mixes

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Lucy Davis on Crediting Connections of Influences, Strategies of Community Wellbeing and the Erosion of Nature-Culture Mixes

Lucy Davis is a visual artist, art writer and founder of The Migrant Ecologies Project. Her practice encircles ecologies, animal and plant studies, art and visual culture, materiality and memory - primarily but not exclusively in Southeast Asia. She is currently Professor of Artistic Practices in the Master's Degree Programme in Visual Cultures, Curating and Contemporary Art at Aalto University, Finland.
We sit down with Lucy one rainy Thursday afternoon and speak to the artist via Skype. From the other side of the planet, she shares with us about the artists whose work has inspired her, and of her fascination with the multifarious connections between communities and ecologies.

Tekukur, Lucy Davis, Kee Ya Ting and Zachary Chan
2020, Installation View at Esplanade Jendela
Bird People Series 4/8 (Dedicated to Hamwal Kassim, alias Rahim)

In her work Forest, artist Simryn Gill photographed strips of text that she grafted into the natural environment. These pieces of paper, wood fragments, are at once returning to their roots and foreign; they rapidly disappear, eaten up by insects or otherwise weathered away in the tropical climate of Singapore and Malaysia. This brings to mind your own musings on the notions of "migrant" and "ecologies" - tell us what these words mean to you, and how they connect with one another.

First of all I want to be really conscious that I'm not using any of the works I've picked out as this sort of foil via which I talk about my own work. I want to talk about the works in themselves as well.

So perhaps to begin with, for Simryn's work, and in fact for all of the works I've chosen, there is an immediate aesthetic accessibility. There are both immediate and ongoing resonances in these works, and of tactile accessibility. If I think of Simryn's Forest: it is very much an aesthetic experience, of the quality and materiality of paper versus the cool flesh of the plants. What I find so inspiring about her process is the way it slips between material and metaphor. You can't put Simryn's work into one box and say it is all about this: it's not definitively about identity, it's not definitively about plants, and it's not just about an ironic "nativization" or "indigenization" gesture or a transplanting of a canonical text like the Ramayana or Darwin's On The Origin of Species. It's something elusive that becomes in the in-between; in the meetings of these two disparate entities.

Another thing that is the case with almost all the works that I've chosen is that they're very simple gestures. But that very simple gesture in Simryn's case then then opens up this irreducible and complex dynamic between migration, text, vegetal worldings, nature, culture, and ecology. Simryn plays with these binaries of nature and culture, but it's not a kind of clearly deconstructionist gesture. The art critic Lee Weng Choy talked about Simryn being a flirt in that she's flirting with these concepts and they're almost left unresolved. So you've got this very literal gesture - of sticking these texts onto plants - that then opens up this material and metaphorical dynamic, and it's left unresolved. There's also a sense of temporality. The work is ephemeral. It won't be there for ever. It suggests a future that has to do with a productive decay, a productive recomposition.

I want to also say that in all of the examples I've given, there's no direct link to the work of The Migrant Ecologies Project. These inspirations, among many many others, are there in the background while we are making work, like invisible friends. But you could say that in almost all of the projects we do, the initial gesture is almost literal and very obvious. For example, we DNA profiled a wooden bed we collected just so we could find out where its wood comes from. We're trying to tell very simple and materially-centred stories. This allows us to open up the slippery complexities between nature and culture, and even collapse the way in which we approach the world through a framework of binaries and dualities.

Forest seems to toy with these ideas as well, with the plant interventions occurring in these places where it seems as if Nature is reclaiming these man-made spaces.

Yes, there are multiple agents in Simryn's work. It makes us aware that we're not in control of all this. Non-human entities are always already reclaiming, reconstructing, recomposing us - some of us are stuck at home right now because of this virus, for example.

And speaking of that, the current COVID-19 situation reminds me of these other events that are very vivid on the Singaporean psyche, like the flash floods in Orchard, the Bedok Reservoir suicides and the Bukit Brown cemetery exhumation. There are events that inspired the works you've picked out, Ultrasound and Bukit Brown Index #132: Triptych of the Unseen. How do you see these works responding to the world around us?

One of the reasons why I really respond to Bukit Brown Index is again, primarily, the aesthetic. I am friends with Jennifer Teo and Woon Tien Wei (founders of Post-Museum), and certainly we have a lot of things in common. We've all been involved in kinds of gentle advocacy in our practice. What really drew me to this work, however, was the feel of the installation. If you wanted to draw a direct connection, it would be that we both have an interest in salvage as an ecological and aesthetic strategy. What I mean by this is a sort of karang guni aesthetic in terms of putting things together. With a little bit of mess, we can allow space for the imagination. It is a cobbling together of sorts - and that concern with craft then brings us to Yee I-Lann's work and, to an extent, also Simryn's work. The imperfect hand is very present in what they do. This aesthetic has a kind of fragility. We talked about this in the seminar we held at the Esplanade for the showRailtrack Songmaps Roosting Post 2. One of the titles for the forum was Salvage as Artistic and Ecological Method, and we spoke about salvage as a practice. How can we cobble together the remnants of place and story whilst it is being destroyed? We spoke about grief-work as well. This refers to how one works with this feeling of loss, and the ways in which we make these salvage energies transformative and future looking. We do not want these feelings of loss to become funereal, monumental, or even tomb-like. Jenn and Tien are clearly also dealing with all these themes of death and hierarchies of human and non-human death. For example, who's death is more important? Who gets to have a good death? Yet the work is still very future-looking because in their tellings, the spirits live on. These spirits are talking to you. The work is not something that is encased in a glossy photograph book that imprisons the dynamics and pleasures of the Bukit Brown. The possibilities of Bukit Brown are still there, even if they're there as ghosts and demons. What Post Museum does with this project is provide space for this tremendously precious connection of nature-cultures. These connections are allowed to seep outwards, and to find other places to live.

I see Genevieve Chua's work as very different. The only connection that Post-Museum and Genevieve's Ultrasound have is a kind of metaphysical dimension. Ultrasound has an otherworldly dimension, not of ghosts necessarily, but the environments are certainly ghostly. It speaks more to the woodblock and wood print collage trees that I worked through in the Stories of Wood series. It speaks to urban ecologies and storytelling, and I have an immediate reaction to Genevieve's work that is very different to the Bukit Brown work. There is a dimension of awe to it, particularly with regard to this world, this space, and this cavernous entity that she conjures. It is very embodied. Yet it contains dimensions of the public, private, personal and political. By moving into abstraction, Genevieve is also able to evoke multiple registers at once. It is a feminist vision. It also suggests climate politics yet draws from very specific urban Singapore events. The work also has this sublime, painterly dimension.

⁵ Sta aaart?, Lucy Davis, Kee Ya Ting and Zachary Chan
2017, Installation View at Tanglin Halt Residents' Committee Space
Bird People Series 3/8 (Dedicated to Alan Ow Yong and Ow Yong Sue Lin)
⁶ Ki ki ki kii, Lucy Davis, Kee Ya Ting and Zachary Chan
2017, Installation View at Tanglin Halt Residents' Committee Space
Bird People Series 2/8 (Dedicated to Esther Kamala)

When I requested from you a selection of artworks you have been inspired or influenced by, you mentioned that you were engaging with quite a few feminist writings as of late. You also spoke about artists as working within interconnected fields and the false notion of artist as genius. Talk to us more about who you have been reading, and the way you see yourself as an artist in relation to your field.

I'm coordinating a course in May, and we're putting together one-week intensive workshop titled Climate Resiliences. The workshop hopes to co-devise strategies for staying with the trouble without going under or running for the hills. I'm coordinating this together with Sanni Saarimäki, a psychologist hired by Aalto University to respond to climate anxiety amongst students, and Professor Julia Lohman who is a designer working with seaweed and an initiative she calls theDepartment of Seaweed. However, all of us, are coming there as peers. Anything that comes out of the workshop would be co-authored and open source.

In terms of writing, Donna Haraway is someone who has written about how a work becomes richer with more more source-lines being traced into it. She also speaks a lot as to the importance of paying credit. She is very good at crediting her own students. She always makes it very clear that she's really just part of a process of becoming, and her works weave thoughts that she has drawn from many places. The visual arts are particularly bad at this kind of referencing. Haraway complains about male academics, but for visual artists there often is no system of referencing at all. There are no automatic mechanisms for that in a visual arts show. There's the star artist's name, and they're imagined to have dreamt up everything themselves by virtue of their own genius.

The way I'm coming into this positively is because of Donna Haraway and my students' collaborative practices.

Having said that, we've had experiences with The Migrant Ecologies Project where artists have ripped off of our works without referencing them It's not always a conscious process. When you work closely with other artists or when you don't have a wide field of other references, there are often blind spots. Things happen, and you are not conscious of everything that goes on. The Migrant Ecologies Project have also, ourselves, been caught out before. We've had a situation where I realised a year after the artwork had been out, that for one of the artists who I've been working with collaboratively, had a dimension of their work that was very similar to their former teacher's. It was quite clear that we had to go back and credit that person on our website, saying that the work drew from this legacy. There's really no issue. In fact for me, it makes the work a part of a richer weave.

What this means in practicality however is that I've had fights with some curators and designers because all these credits tend to become a very long list in our exhibitions. I really do think it is important, and increasingly so, for these co-authored projects like Railtrack Songmaps with so many human and non-human partners, interviewees, and voices involved. It is not easy, but I think it's an ethic that is something the visual arts community can think more about.

Do you think this ties in with what you previously mentioned about feminine ethics of care and collaboration? How does this tie in with a feminine or feminist tradition for you?

I don't want to essentialize this process, of course. It's not something that just women do. However, there has been a particular feminist critique of the individualised, competitive, patriarchal society; a critique of capitalism, competition, profit accumulation, and an idea of progress. There is also a feminist attempt to bring back or restore values that have been "feminized". By this I'm referring to values that are sometimes is associated with notions of being seen as soft, feminine and therefore trivial. These definitely are not necessarily biologically feminine characteristics, but they are seen to be so, and therefore downgraded. These are values like sharing and collaboration, but also practices of craft and the collaborative processes that go with making something in a craft context. There is a connection there as well.

The Migrant Ecologies Project works in a very collaborative way. There is a huge list of collaborators listed on the website for each work. These projects for you also span, as you said, across many years. Why do you choose to work this way in respond to the call of migrant ecologies?

I don't think there was a why, it just happened that way rather organically. It is only retroactively that I have begun to think of this as some sort of method. I did these things and invited collaborators because I didn't have certain skills and I wanted a certain dynamic in a project. However, I'm not trying to pretend that this is a process that is completely horizontal and democratic either. It's very clear that I'm the one who decides what the projects are going to be and I'm the one who applies for funding. I'm also the one, together with the core team who decides who we should bring in to collaborate with. There's still a coordinating, managerial dimension to it.

⁷ "Four Legged Stool Tree" Terentang/Campnosperma Auriculata, Lucy Davis
2009, Installation View at Post-Museum
⁸ Bangku terentang, Lucy Davis
2009, Installation View at Post-Museum

On that note of collaboration and craft, let us talk about your selection of Yee I-Lann's Tikar-A-Gagah, which is a critical engagement of Southeast Asia's postcolonial history, notions of memory and geopolitics, and the power relations in artmaking. You have long been interested in the notions of human connections in the region of Southeast Asia. What about this work intrigues you?

I want to talk about how I respond to where I-Lann is right now by telling you about the work of a colleague I mentioned previously: Julia Lohman's Department of Seaweed. As I see it, Julia is in the same sort of zone as I-Lann in the moment, in that Julia has really found her material, her politics, her poetics and her method. The seaweed that she's working with, which are metre-long kelps, can absorb more carbon than rainforests. They can protect and help restore coral reefs by hindering invasive species such as sea urchins. They can also provide safe spaces for baby sea creatures. When you meet Julia, it is wonderfully energising. It becomes clear quite quickly that she has found her thing. That's what I enjoy so much about encountering I-Lann's latest work as well. This is not limited to the actual works themselves, but also the place and the processes that she's embedded in, especially having moved back to Sabah and working with this female community of expert weavers. I've known I-Lann's work for a long time and it just seems like all these things she cares about - community politics, marine ecology, and feminism - are coming together right now. It's superb and it makes for an absolutely beautifully rich experience of the work.

As for Tikar-A-Gagah, I really prefer the back side of the weave. There you can really see its intricacies. In order to appreciate it you have to kind of dance with it. The light catches different parts in different directions. You'll have something that looks like a buffalo in negative space and then when you turn it becomes positive, so there is an kind of animated dimension to it. Craft gets feminized and then seems soft and non-intellectual, something mechanical. But in this work, you can see that there are worlds in there - mathematical and geometric worlds, worlds of power and resistance too. This collective crafting is a very intellectual and conceptual exercise.

The dislocated way the work is displayed in the National Gallery Singapore, however, probably doesn't do the work justice. It's displayed more like a modern artwork. I would like the work to be in the middle of a room with both sides given equal access. I would also like to see more of the documentation of the production of the work, possibly in the form of video, along with the weave and also the extended ecologies that the work is entangled in. For instance, the women I-Lann is working with are, as I understand, also planting pandan along the coast as a way to stop erosion.

In a way Amanda Heng's Let's Chat escapes these issues because hers, at least if you encounter the live version, is a performance. Amanda's gesture is again deceptively simple - the most simple thing you can imagine. You just have a table in whatever context you're in, be it fancy exhibition or shopping mall. Then you have people sitting around it, shelling beansprouts. Like many of her performances, she then repeats this gesture in different spaces and it charges different contexts in different ways. For instance, she's done this in an old neighbourhood of Singapore, which then channels a whole embodied memory of women's work. This is going to be completely different and perhaps richer than the kind of dynamics going on in a gallery environment. However, that she can transfer this work from a local, specific historical context to an institutional environment also suggests how future-looking Let's Chat is. It's not locked in this nostalgic past where we used to hang out together in the kampong and shell beansprouts. It has the capacity to both be restorative but also to suggest ways that we might be able to integrate collaborative nurturing work in an othered future.

I experienced it in a show maybe five or six years ago. I was at one of these pretentious shows where everybody is all dressed up, holding champagne and doing air kisses. In the middle of all that was Amanda and some others sitting down and just shelling these beans. It completely changed the temporality of the space around the table. You are sitting in a circle, you are clumsy, but your hands are moving with this living material that is delicate and cool. You have got this movement of hands, laughing, chatting and delicate beansprout-like synapses that are going off in your head at the same time.

Amanda's performance keeps coming into my head when I think about the Climate Resiliences workshop we are working on at Aalto. In a way without directly intending to, Amanda has created an incredibly therapeutic environment and a safe space. You're doing this repetitive task with your hands, and this is something that feels good with your fingers. The world is probably going to hell but for now you're able to do this. When we're talking about resilience, maybe these basic strategies are the foundation upon which we build up to other things. Of course this isn't the only thing that you do about climate change. However strategies for community wellbeing, as opposed to individualised and ironically often competitive practices of self-care, are really important in these anxious and fearful times. All this from such a simple gesture!

¹¹ Ranjang Jati: The Teak Bed that Got Four Humans from Singapore to Travel to Muna Island, Southeast Sulawesi and Back Again, Lucy Davis
2009-2015
¹² "When you get closer to the heart, you may find cracks..." Stories of Wood
Installation View at NUS Museum

You've worked as an art educator for a long time, and are also known as an artist, curator and a writer. How do you see the relationship between these different roles? Is there one which comes first for you, and fo you see your different roles as interconnected or discrete?

I think they're absolutely all interconnected. At different stages they have different emphasis. You're not always the same person all at the same time. My own education background is radically transdisciplinary. Roskilde University in Denmark, where I studied on-and-off for a decade, is based on transdisciplinary group work. I was, for example, studying history at that time and placed in a group with a geographer and a linguist. We worked together on a project that discussed the political ecology of Bolivia, discussing soil and the best way to grow coca as a kind of anti-imperialist or anti-US resistance. Given this background, it is completely normal for me to change hats and work collaboratively with people who are different from me. If there's something that I don't know how to do, then I bring in somebody who does and we figure it out along the way. I worked in theatre when I was studying in Copenhagen and when I moved back to Singapore. I was Associate Artist with The Necessary Stage. It's a cliché, but the people who work in theatre do have to learn collaborative skills in a way that visual artists don't. So there are these kind of things mixed in there as well.

Two of the co-collaborators on The Migrant Ecologies Project are ex-students from the Nanyang Technological University's ADM. I didn't actually teach Kee Ya Ting, who is the photographer and cinematographer of The Migrant Ecologies Project. She tells everyone that she actually avoided all my classes! I did, however, teach Zachary Chan. When he was a student we had a shared interest in nature-cultures and Southeast Asian art histories. Working with Zach and Ya Ting is an evolving process. Sometimes it is a bit of a struggle moving away from that teacher-student relationship. I keep trying to but sometimes they keep putting me back into that place. However I do want to say that in terms of the visual and cinematographic evolution of the project, Ya Ting's point of view has been absolutely central in her own right. She really does own the way that the films are shot and way the series of photographs have emerged. Equally so with Zach and all of the printed materials. I hope they would agree that everybody gets to have their own kind of artistic development in the work.

With Zai Tang, he works more individually, creating the soundscape in parallel, then coming back with it to see how it dances with the visual media. However although he works independently in terms of his artistic practice, he is key to the organisational and collaboration practice. We all have to share the organisation and admin. Unfortunately, with me being away, this also means that the Singapore-based team has to take on more of the organisation and administration than before, which has been a bit taxing on them.

Looking into the future, one of the things I thought about is if the second installation with the HDBs and the nests goes into a collection, what might be nice is that every time the work is re-shown there there is a collaborative more than human nest-making workshop, where I kind of create a basic template for how to make these salvage nests, but borrowing very much from Amanda and from I-Lann.

Speaking of your being away, how do you see location's impact on your work?

Location is huge. I've always been someone who engages and embeds myself and tried to find meaning where I am. I absolutely hate travelling. It is a real struggle for me to have everything that I care about and the stories that I'm interested in telling being on the other side of the world. While I'm very fond of my students and colleagues here in Helsinki, and I have my partner in Paris, if I had the choice I would not move at all. Of course I'd rather still be in Singapore. Perhaps at some stage I'll just have to let go, but I'm not ready to do so yet.

This attitude manifests in my work in a sort of attachment, both to places and objects, or assemblages, stories, and dynamics. I spent ten years working on one teak bed, and another six years, if not practicing then at least thinking about, a crocodile and/or a straw that we found inside the crocodile. Railtrack Songmaps Roosting Post 2, which is the exhibition currently on at the Jendela, is the most personal for me because it's right next to where I used to live. This project is also the closest that I've come to direct advocacy, because for me it is a nexus of culture and nature that is so very special and that is nearly gone.

It is also important to say that one of the reasons why the Railtrack Songmaps came about is not only because I've been living there for a long time and had conversations with residents and foragers daily along the Rail Corridor. I also taught a course titled Cities Bodies Memories whilst teaching in the Nanyang Technological University's ADM. This meant that every six months we had students who went around investigating the relationship between urban life, bodies and memories in that area. Railtrack Songmaps is also a part of that legacy in that a lot of discoveries were ones that my students made during that project. One of the key interviewees was first encountered by two of my students Donovan Tan and Steve Lim during that project.

In the work itself, we place great emphasis on the importance of these local stakeholders along the Rail Corridor, and the loss that is currently felt amongst this class of people. You've got a low-income group of elderly residents who have been living along the Rail Corridor since the 1960s and who have a whole multitude of practices. Some of them really are nurturing and some of them, I'll admit, are a bit dodgy. Nonetheless, all of them are passionately engaged in processes of place making. They're engaged in both Tanglin Halt and the environment around it, and in activities such as foraging for fruit, herbs and medicines along the tracks. Some of them cut lalang along the tracks on the second day of Chinese New Year to feed to the horse statues in the Taoist temple. There are also the songbird clubs, informal cricket matches by migrant workers, and shrines such as the tree shrines, the Datuk Kong shrines and the Hindu shrines.

There's this mushrooming of connections between the ecological world, the urban world and the spirit world along the tracks. All of this are cleansed in order to create this park for middle class people to go jogging, ride their bicycles, and take photographs that can be posted up on Instagram. The new biodiversity would be probably alright, but the stretch would have lost a very particular nature-culture mix. If you take the people out of the equation, it just becomes another park.

A number of these individuals don't speak English, so they can't go along to these government-led feedback sessions to get their voices heard. Instead, their plants are dug up or they get these officious bureaucrat letters from the Singapore Land Authority telling them to clear off and clear out. Their presence has become a disamenity to the day trippers who now frequent the tracks.

¹³ Railtrack Songmaps Nest-Infestations, Lucy Davis, Kee Ya Ting and Zachary Chan
2020, Installation View at Esplanade Jendela
Collaborators: Priscilla Teh Xue Ting, Aaron Yeo Zheng Wei and Seah Jia Neng

Railtrack Songmaps Roosting Post 2 is now open.
The exhibition will run at the Esplanade Jendela (Visual Arts Space) until 5 April 2020.
More information about the exhibition can be found .

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Lucy Davis on Crediting Connections of Influences, Strategies of Community Wellbeing and the Erosion of Nature-Culture Mixes - Object Lessons Space

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Lucy Davis on Crediting Connections of Influences, Strategies of Community Wellbeing and the Erosion of Nature-Culture Mixes Lucy Davis is a visual artist, art writer and founder of The Migrant Ecologies Project . Her practice encircles ecologies, animal and plant studies, art and visual culture, materiality and memory - primarily but not exclusively in Southeast Asia.

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Forum on Contemporary Art & Society FOCAS. .                                          

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Forum on Contemporary Art & Society FOCAS. .                                          

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Editor Lucy Davis

FOCAS board included: C-J Wan-ling Wee, Ray Langenbach, Lee Weng Choy, Lucy Davis, KC Chew & Susie Lingham

Independent, collaborative publication on art and cultural politics, primarily but not exclusively situated in Singapore and Southeast Asia  published by: The Necessary Stage The Substation 2000-2007.                                                         Funding withdrawn post a censorship disagreement with the National Arts Council in 2007.                                                                                  Final volume published entirely by  donations and launched as part of Documenta#12 magazines project in 2007

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'Wheat Grain World Dreams' Lucy Davis & Zach Chan, for Crocodile Seeds/ Crocodile Spirit Ecologies Project (ongoing) 

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Migrant Ecologies Projects was formed in 2009 by Lucy Davis as a collaborative, trans-disciplinary, initiative engaging art and political ecology, primarily but not exclusively, in Singapore/Southeast Asia.
"Migrant Ecologies Projects bring together daughters of woodcutters, seed gatherers, memory trackers and song mappers, in processes between salvage and speculation. Our stories are drawn by soundings, echoes, shadows and spirits of more than human political movements, across this planet"
www.migrantecologies.org

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Ong Si Hui (b. 1993) is a visual artist based in Singapore. She is a trained sculptor from Nanyang Academy of Fine Arts, and Lasalle College of the Arts.

Working extensively in stones, she explores the spirit of the medium through slow and meticulous hand carving processes. She addresses materiality, human conditions, fragility, anxiety, and reflects upon the behaviour of a work story. The geometric forms and text-oriented works are often manifestations of her stream of consciousness.

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http://biotechnics.org/1hope.html
More information is needed.

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INTRODUCING THE WOMEN MELDING ART, TECHNOLOGY AND SUSTAINABILITY IN SINGAPORE

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INTRODUCING THE WOMEN MELDING ART, TECHNOLOGY AND SUSTAINABILITY IN SINGAPORE

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https://www.net-a-porter.com/en-gb/porter/article-4b1ec14bf992342b/lifestyle/culture/please-insert-women-net-a-porter-the-meshminds-foundation

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CHEN CHENG MEI, who died last December at the age of ninety-three, will be most remembered as the woman behind the Ten Men Art Group. This loose collective of Singapore-based artists made work inspired by their travels around Southeast Asia in the 1960s, and China and India during the 1970s, marking a decisive turn toward a distinctly regional sensibility in Southeast Asian artistic practice and exploring affinities shared across diverse cultures and geographies... Roger Nelson, 2021 Art Forum

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CHEN CHENG MEI, who died last December at the age of ninety-three, will be most remembered as the woman behind the Ten Men Art Group. This loose collective of Singapore-based artists made work inspired by their travels around Southeast Asia in the 1960s, and China and India during the 1970s, marking a decisive turn toward a distinctly regional sensibility in Southeast Asian artistic practice and exploring affinities shared across diverse cultures and geographies. This attitude and approach remain crucial in defining the region's art and curating today. In 1960, Chen initiated a trip to peninsular Malaysia with three fellow artists, which led to a journey a year later with ten participants, headed this time by artist Yeh Chi Wei, whom Chen had proposed lead in her stead. A flurry of excursions followed-to Cambodia, Indonesia, Thailand, Borneo, and beyond. The group met key artists in many places, as well as sketching and photographing in temples and villages, in cities and in the countryside. Exhibitions sharing the resulting works upon the group's return to Singapore prefigured today's frequent display of projects arising from Southeast Asian contemporary artists' residencies throughout the region. Chen's role in the Ten Men Art Group has often been eclipsed by Yeh's, and her paintings from this period have enjoyed less prominence than those of her male compatriots, due in part to her reluctance to exhibit during much of her long career. But Chen alone maintained a tireless interest in using her art to find her place in the world, making dozens of research trips through Africa, Asia, the Americas, and elsewhere from the '70s until the 2000s. "My travels and works attempt to reveal the myriad colors and lives in those countries visited," she later recalled.

If Chen's early role in the Ten Men Art Group is less well-known than those of her male counterparts, then her later period of solo journeys is even more underappreciated: She was one of only a small number of Southeast Asian artists whose work engaged with Africa and South Asia during the decades following decolonization. Kenyan Chieftains, 1991, typifies the artist's whimsical and willfully childlike style, which belied her solid training in both Western and Chinese aesthetics and techniques. The bright hues gleefully rendering swathes of fabric and the simplified crosshatching evoking the appearance of thatched dwellings recur in Chen's depictions of people and places from across several continents. The Kenyan huts as suggested in the painting are strikingly similar to the attap houses Chen frequently portrayed in works inspired by her travels in Southeast Asia. Rather than pretending to disclose any totalizing ethnographic understanding of foreign cultures, her art expresses a spirit of globally shared humanity, and dramatizes the artist's joy in its encounter, again and again. Her vivid attention to textiles, scenes of markets and hawkers, as well as plants, birds, and natural environments is equally evident in works picturing locations from Nairobi to New Delhi, Sabah to the Sahara.

Also consistent in her oeuvre is a playful approach to color, often extended across interlocking, semitransparent planes of blue, umber, emerald, and red. From the 1950s onwards, her mostly figurative output was accompanied by sojourns in abstraction, sometimes (as in High Hope, 1971) incorporating latex and other unconventional materials. Beginning in the late '60s, after a period studying etching and lithography in Paris at Atelier 17 with Stanley William Hayter, Chen's experiments with the juxtaposition of often not-quite-complementary tones unfolded on canvas and in her printmaking. She insisted that in both mediums, "depth and dimensions have little significance in and of themselves; rather than being cold abstractions of reality, they should aim to be symbolic of larger truths." Chen would later donate a printing press to Singapore's Lasalle College of the Arts, having herself studied at another local institution, the prestigious Nanyang Academy of Fine Arts, back in 1949. Although she never taught, her employment as a French translator for a Singapore bank and her adventurous, outgoing nature set an unusual example for women in the still male-dominated art worlds of the region. She spoke often of the elation she derived from making art, explaining in a 2008 interview with the National Archives of Singapore, "I'm trying to transfer this happiness, and put it up through the lines and the colors, to the viewer . . . That's my success."

Chen Cheng Mei first found this success in painting the orchids cultivated by her horticulturalist father, near her childhood home in one of the city's leafiest districts. Nature remained an important subject throughout the artist's six decades of work, as did Singapore itself: She captured the rapid transformation of the small island nation during its decades of postcolonial stability, prosperity, and urbanization, in Trading Room, 1974, even offering a rare and irreverent view of the mundane mechanisms of financial speculation. But Chen's most significant and lasting contribution is her curious, outward-looking gaze. Her work insistently makes manifest Singapore's emplacement within Southeast Asia, and also the region's interconnection with the world.
Roger Nelson is an art historian and a curator at National Gallery Singapore.

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CHEN CHENG MEI, who died last December at the age of ninety-three, will be most remembered as the woman behind the Ten Men Art Group. This loose collective of Singapore-based artists made work inspired by their travels around Southeast Asia in the 1960s, and China and India during the 1970s, marking a decisive turn toward a distinctly regional sensibility in Southeast Asian artistic practice and exploring affinities shared across diverse cultures and geographies.

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Terms and Conditions: Re-examining Singapore Art History Through the Art Making Experiences of Early Malay Women Artists, Nurdiana Rahmat

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Terms and Conditions: Re-examining Singapore Art History Through the Art Making Experiences of Early Malay Women Artists, Nurdiana Rahmat

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One of the key approaches to the study of women artists is the introduction of feminist interventions to art history by challenging, questioning and rewriting histories to include the voices of women who have been erased in these stories. By applying an intersectional feminist intervention to the study of Malay women artists in Singapore, this article will dig deeper into the development of Malay women artists through the archives of Singapore’s longest-running art society for Malay artists, Angkatan Pelukis Aneka Daya (Association of Artists of Various Resources, APAD) to recover and resurface key artistic contributions made by its early female members, Rohani Ismail, Hamidah Suhaimi, Maisara (Sara) Dariat and Rosma Mahyuddin Guha. The limitations they face in their respective art making experiences and how they cope with these challenges, as well as a re-examination of the support given towards their artistic development through exhibition opportunities, provides key insights to the systemised exclusion of Malay women artists’ contributions to Singapore’s art history.

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Troubling the gaze: The writers and zhiyin of 'women's art', Yvonne Low

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Troubling the gaze: The writers and zhiyin of 'women's art', Yvonne Low

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Women-centred exhibitions and discourses, which often grew out of a feminist response to male-dominated collections and art histories, have been criticized for committing the pitfall of perpetuating canon production rather than problematizing it. Yet, locating women artists is fundamental to the recovery of women's subjectivity and their histories and contributions, without which, no claims for intervening or destabilizing male-centric discourses can begin. This article assesses two such examples of recovery projects, Indonesian Women Artists: When the Curtain Opens (Bianpoen et al. 2007) and Half the Sky: Conversations with Women Artists in China (Guest 2016) that served as testimonies to the making of modern and contemporary art as artistic outlets that are unique to female artists. Both texts, as this paper argues, testify to the rise and emergence of 'women's art' as an expressive category, gendered female by its objective to speak to and for the shared conditions and experiences of women in Indonesia and China, respectively. Employing a range of strategies, from the destabilization of the male gaze to the redefinition of femininity, the women artists discussed in the texts--both authored by female writers--were framed as agents that arguably served an 'othered', 'female' gaze. Thus, this article argues for a new interpretative approach to recover and locate female agency, as articulated not merely through the artist's hand, but concomitantly through the receiving and knowing gaze. KEYWORDS women artists women's art feminist art history women writers Indonesian contemporary art Chinese contemporary art
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Troubling the gaze: The writers and zhiyin of 'women's art'

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Women-centred exhibitions and discourses, which often grew out of a feminist response to male-dominated collections and art histories, have been criticized for committing the pitfall of perpetuating canon production rather than problematizing it. Yet, locating women artists is fundamental to the recovery of women's subjectivity and their histories and contributions, without which, no claims for intervening or destabilizing male-centric discourses can begin.

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International Womens Artists Exhibition (1955)

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International Womens Artists Exhibition (1955)

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Held at the British Council, Singapore.
Source: page 106, THE PRIMACY OF PAINTING: INSTITUTIONAL STRUCTURES OF THE SINGAPORE ART WORLD FROM 1935 TO 1972. SENG YU JIN. https://core.ac.uk/reader/48639220

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We need more information on this exhibition

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Women and Their Art,  National Museum Art Gallery (1991)

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Women and Their Art,  National Museum Art Gallery (1991)

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Curated by Susie Koay. Including the work of: Chng Seok Tin, Amanda Heng, Katherine Ho, Diana Chua, Soh Siew Kiat, Lee Foong Siew and Hazel MacIntosh.

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Women Artists, Kwok Kian Chow (short text)

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Women Artists, Kwok Kian Chow (short text)

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http://www.postcolonialweb.org/singapore/arts/painters/channel/22.html

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ALTERNATIVE LESSONS FOR WOMEN: SONIA KWEK AND TAN WEIYING ON SEX, DESIRE AND THE EROTIC (2021)

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ALTERNATIVE LESSONS FOR WOMEN: SONIA KWEK AND TAN WEIYING ON SEX, DESIRE AND THE EROTIC (2021)

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By Aditi Shivaramakrishnan

Adapting its title from Lessons for Women << a text by the first known female Chinese historian, Ban Zhao, Alternative Lessons for Women is a double-bill of two solo works: Hymen Instinct created and performed by Sonia Kwek and What? That's It? created and performed by Tan Weiying.

Hymen Instinct subverts the archetypes of the virgin and whore through two characters: a maidenly Moon Goddess who grows a penis every full moon, and a Lady of the Night who is unable to orgasm. In What? That's It? , an elderly lady tries fervently to achieve an orgasm, the only way she can feel closer to her dead lover.

Sonia and Weiying first presented their solo pieces as their final performances when graduating from the Intercultural Theatre Institute in 2017. In 2018, Sonia's piece was accepted into the EX-Theatre Asia Weekend Theatre Festival in Taiwan and invited Weiying to do a double-bill with her.

ArtsEquator speaks with the artists ahead of the Singapore premiere of the show, which takes place from 18 to 20 March, presented as part of The Substation's SeptFest 2021: In the Margins. The show is currently sold out.

[The interview has been lightly edited.]
Where did you encounter Lessons for Women <<女诫>> How do each of your pieces respond to such prescriptions for women? by Ban Zhao, and what fascinated you about it?
Sonia: While we're not using the text itself in our works, it offers a context to understand the double-bill. When I was Googling for concepts of femininity in Chinese history, Ban Zhao's Lessons for Women came up. The Chinese title refers to "things not to do". From both research and lived experience, there's lots you have to do as a woman.

Ban Zhao wrote this when she was ill as a way to ensure her daughters would be able to survive. It's a guide for future generations of women for survival in a patriarchal system. The book talks about what women should do in the roles of daughter, wife, mother, member of society...but there's not much about (addressing) their own desires, ambitions, fears and hopes.

Lessons for Women doesn't talk about sex. Both of us use the experience of sex in our pieces, mine a bit more pointedly. Our pieces can be seen as responses.

Sonia: My piece plays with what sex means to someone, and what it means to live by the body - not just living by your physical body but also your desires, your fears, your pleasure.
You've presented your solos before in different settings. How have they evolved, and what is the relationship between them?
I don't have a narrative so much as scenarios of two characters that are playing on and subverting the archetypes of the virgin and the whore. For the character of the Lady of the Night, I was very inspired by a woman I saw in a toilet in Parklane Mall. The [toilet] had puke, period blood, and I heard puking sounds... When I came out of the cubicle, I saw this beautiful woman standing at the sink and wondered if I was dreaming. She was probably a hostess, wearing a long, glittering, translucent dress and had long hair down to her waist. She was standing at the sink and putting on mascara, holding a cigarette. I was very startled and taken. I [thought to myself that] I [had] found a character for my play.

2017 was the year of #MeToo and in retrospect, Hymen Instinct was probably my response at that time. Women's naked bodies, women's sexuality, and sex are always so policed, but in 2017 specifically, it was a lot about women having the bravery to come forward. But it's also very important to show that women can still have all these ugly desires in them. I want to show that it's also okay to find pleasure in sex and enjoy your body for yourself.

Weiying: My piece What? That's It? questions: if a woman takes in the values and virtues of how a conventional woman in society should behave, what will become of her in her old age, and what are the things she will hold on to? It's a gradual realisation that for [my character], living for a man and holding on to his memory and giving up part of her identity might not be so great for her own well-being.

I grew up in a very conservative environment. The women in my household are strong but a large part of their identity is also about their husbands. There's nothing wrong with that if you're aware, if it's a decision that you made. Someone like myself, I have great insecurity, so I very willingly give up part of myself in a relationship. After a few toxic relationships I questioned why I exhibit such behaviour. If a woman continues that cycle of virtuosity, this is just one possibility of what may happen and what I envision could happen to me should I not hold my ground.

Sonia: This is the third version of the show. It's also a reflection of the times - our headspace but also where the world is now. I'm quite acutely aware that mine looks at a cisgendered woman['s experience], but I don't want to say woman[hood] is tied to your genitalia. My framing in 2017 was still very much riding on the second wave of feminism. Moving past that, I'm not saying no but I'm saying it's about more than that. Whether you bleed or don't bleed, it doesn't mean you're any more or less a woman. I'm not so tied to the menstruation allegory any more but maybe of body dysphoria, when sometimes something happens in your body that is not something you may like, or you feel uncomfortable, embarrassed (about it), like you need to cover up.
What is your collaborative relationship like and who else are you working with on this iteration?
Weiying: In the first iteration, when my character dies she gets approached by Death and realises from Death that her husband has moved on and there is nothing for her to hold on to any more. In the latest version, there is no Death character and she realises this herself.
When I think about this work, the erotic comes to mind. What do you associate with this word and what does it mean to you?
Sonia: With double-bills there's always this question of whether there should be an intermission. In Taiwan we decided not to, we decided to have a seamless transition. Because of limitations of time this time, there will still be a bit of transition, but we want to try to carry that flow. It doesn't feel like our characters meet. They meet in terms of the energy flowing from one and carrying onto the other.

Weiying: Possibly the kinds of beliefs and systems they've been subjected to are...

Sonia: They are different results of this particular patriarchal system.

Sonia: We wanted to bring on board others, like a director or a dramaturg, but because of time we didn't manage to. Figuring out the direction for this round was particularly hard - the relevance of this work and the fact that it was going to be in The Substation's last festival. We don't take that lightly. There's also the idea of playing it safe versus keeping on taking risks and experimenting because that's exactly what The Substation is for. It's their flexibility, freedom which people don't realise... this is what we mean when we talk about wanting freedom to create. Especially for work that's devised, [with] new work you need a lot of space to have change, to be flexible and adapt. Just because you try something doesn't mean it'll work, but the point is the trying. We also have a lighting designer (Daryl Norman Soh) for the festival from The Substation and as for sound artist we have Madam Data. And really the other collaborator is (the team from) The Substation, as we're in constant dialogue with them.

Sonia: Audre Lorde's The Uses of the Erotic was a big inspiration for me in conceptualising this work. The erotic, to me, is very hard but also very easy. It's about being honest with yourself and being able to own your own desires, whatever that means to you.

Weiying: A deeper form of self-awareness, especially given how, conventionally, when we talk about eroticism, some would associate it with porn or satisfying sexual desires. To know your own erotic desire is to really go deep into yourself and really face yourself and see who you are, and it's so confronting sometimes. To really know what pleasures you without someone else is quite powerful, for yourself.

Sonia: For anyone who has been marginalised, who has had some part of them used against them, I think the erotic is a lot about taking that for yourself. I've become quite resistant to using the word "reclaimed", because it implies that you have to fight to take it back, when actually it's always been yours. The erotic has always been yours, it's not for anyone to take away. When you realise that and come into your own power, it's very beautiful. It's also very pleasurable. The erotic for me is also linked to a place of pleasure, and we don't mean hedonism or self-indulgence, but something deeper. You want the best for yourself but not how capitalism says or [in a way that's] selfish, but more about the sense of the self being grounded, and also free.

SeptFest 2021 takes place at the Substation from now till 28 March. Find out more about the programmes .

This article is sponsored by The Substation.

Aditi Shivaramakrishnan works as an arts manager, editor and writer in Singapore.

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Alternative Lessons for Women: Sonia Kwek and Tan Weiying on sex, desire and the erotic

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By Aditi Shivaramakrishnan Adapting its title from Lessons for Women How do each of your pieces respond to such prescriptions for women? by Ban Zhao, and what fascinated you about it? Sonia: While we're not using the text itself in our works, it offers a context to understand the double-bill.

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created and performed by ila, chand & sonia

three women walk along the shoreline, their mouths stuffed full with flowers, carrying an 8m long red cloth above their heads. three women wring and fold the wet cloth together; as they do so, stories of when they were made acutely aware of being women unfold.

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Hazel Lim | Artist | Singapore | Works | Craft | Text

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Hazel Lim is a Singapore-based visual artist who employs text, craft techniques, installation, paintings and drawings to express her interests in the production of narratives, notions of displacement, construction of histories and imaginary landscapes.

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https://www.shubigi.com/

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Female Gaze, Agnes Christina and Lizzie Wee (2022)

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Female Gaze, Agnes Christina and Lizzie Wee (2022)

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A discussion between artists Agnes Christina and Lizzie Wee on how their practices run in parallel and the common threads in their works as well as how they settled on the title of the online exhibition of their collaboration and communications. Online exhibition at the substation website:
https://www.substation.org/female-gaze-2022

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Female Gaze - On titling the show and the common threads in our practices.

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Liyana Ali, Flection of Curvation (2020), Plywood and assorted construction materials. Dimensions variable.

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Liyana Ali, Flection of Curvation (2020)

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Liyana Ali, Flection of Curvation (2020)

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In Flection of Curvation (2020), Liyana Ali continues her investment in construction and labour in art-making. Through the handling and moulding of materials, Liyana executes iterative arrangements bounded by odd numbers while exploring a new “sculptural language” as informed by its significance in Islam. Here, many acts of worship follow odd numbers of three, five and seven.  In this new work, Liyana negotiates the often objective and systematic approach to her site-specific arrangements with her lived experience, considering concepts of spirituality and rituals.

Image courtesy of: The organisers of The Orchid; The Wasp (2021).

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Pooja Kanade is a visual artist and educator. Her interest lies in the potential of objects and materials that she finds within her everyday environment...

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Alecia Neo, Scores for Caregiving (2020)

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Alecia Neo, Scores for Caregiving (2020)

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An on-going artistic research project on embodied care, performed through everyday gestures and rituals. https://www.careindex.net/

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Alecia Neo
Alecia is an artist and cultural worker, developing long-term projects that involve collaborations with individuals and communities. Her socially engaged practice unfolds primarily through lens-based media and participatory artworks that address modes of radical hospitality and care labour.

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Alvyna Han
Alvyna is a person-in-recovery and a caregiver to herself. She sees herself as an avid learner and is currently a Programme Manager at Caregivers Alliance Limited (CAL) for the Caregivers-to-Caregivers Training Programme.

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Carol Ee
Carol is a mother of two and a full-time worker. She is also a caregiver to her child and is a volunteer with Caregivers Alliance Limited (CAL).

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Frank M
Frank is a staff at Caregivers Alliance Limited (CAL) who reaches out to connect with caregivers of loved ones with mental health issues and Dementia.

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Nur Hidayah
Being the pillar of support to her family of origin, Hidayah who has been married for the past two years is still learning how to navigate her life post-marriage; in her role as a secondary caregiver to her brother, daughter to her mother, and wife and daughter in law to her family of creation. She considers herself a struggling writer, as she works towards realising her passion in writing and story telling.

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Clarence Chung
Clarence is a sound designer and music composer for art experiences, film and performances. Clarence's goal in all his projects is to bring out the multiplicity of imperceptible feelings and highly transient human experiences.

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‍ Alecia Neo Alecia is an artist and cultural worker, developing long-term projects that involve collaborations with individuals and communities. Her socially engaged practice unfolds primarily through lens-based media and participatory artworks that address modes of radical hospitality and care labour. ‍ Alvyna Han Alvyna is a person-in-recovery and a caregiver to herself.