mic checked

by Rachel Signer

How Occupy Wall Street occupies your heart

from dispatch at Killing the Buddha, an online magazine of religion, culture and politics.

posted on November 14, 2011

First, you tried drinking a lot, in bars, with your friends, or people who seemed like they could be your friends. But it was expensive, and you kept getting up late for work. So you tried online dating, and went to wine bar after wine bar, tapas restaurants and gallery openings, until finally you found someone to bunker down with for awhile. That ended, or perhaps never really began, and next you tried reading critical theory at night, a glass of wine by your side. Or taking knitting classes. Learning Portuguese online. Museums, there is always something new to see in the museums. You see movies: movie after movie after movie. A few new outfits here and there. Yoga, you do lots of yoga. You advance in your practice. Maybe you do a teacher training.

Then one day, you hear about the kids sleeping in a park around Wall Street. You’ve been-there-done-that, before you hit the Real World and became focused on your career. You remember activism fondly and hope the kids have fun and make some cool signs, or enjoy letting their body hair grow long, or make some bankers feel bad about themselves. You shrug. You are doing your part to get by: you are shopping at the farmer’s market, you read Chomsky, you even criticize The New York Times. You do yoga. Your online dating profile reflects your ambivalence toward the bourgeois, heteronormative standard of romance while clearly expressing that you are available for drinks with a good-looking so-and-so of a certain pedigree who has the same excellent taste that you do. Everything is going just fine.

But then curiosity gets the best of you, and anyway Radiohead is rumored to be playing. They don’t show, and instead, you find yourself in the General Assembly. People are talking about the possibility of a new society and screaming “mic check!” and wearing strange costumes, and the food is great, and you start seeing people you know. And you remember liking those people at the time you knew them, but not actually knowing them very well. And a week later, one of them sends you a text message, saying to come to the park now, there’s a march, and he doesn’t have anyone around him and is afraid of being arrested. Soon, you are walking over the Brooklyn Bridge, and below you seven hundred people are facing scores of cops, and the people in the front line have their arms linked but you see the fear in their eyes as the cops start dragging people off, one by one, to the waiting vans. The people scream out their names to the crowd on the bridge above, and you tell people to tweet the names with the hashtag so it will get publicized.

Before you know it, you are spending the afternoon in the park, dancing to the drummers, gorging on free pizza, talking to everyone. The press makes you laugh; they seem clueless or bored as they meander through the crowds, snapping pictures of the weirdest-looking people they can find. You remember that you, unlike most of them, understand what’s going on here. You realize that that understanding is something special, something to hold on to.

There are meetings, and they both excite you and fill you with impatience. The General Assembly seems to drag on and on, and you think to yourself that this system is so flawed, so confusing and bureaucratic. A small spark inside you goes off, a secret hope that this will all end, will fail, the kids will go home and go back to hacking or running info-shops or whatever they do, and you can continue on with movies and online dating and re-reading Milles Plateaus. But then you can’t help yourself and you start asking questions, start mic checking at assembly meetings, start going to working group meetings and using the consensus process like it’s a language you were born knowing. You finally sit through almost an entire—painfully long, frustrating, argumentative—General Assembly, and come to appreciate that it’s really fucking hard to keep this movement going. You see the tent city slowly emerge and the problems it causes, and the Comfort people and the Sanitation Crew and the Medics working their asses off to mitigate issues that come up. You ask yourself if you would be able to sacrifice comfort and ownership to sleep here. You are not sure.

You join working groups, and you speak confidently at meetings about potential actions. Your position on the question of demands changes over time; you were one of the skeptics who needed demands to lend concreteness to the movement, to provide a vision of change, kind of like how Obama’s “Yes We Can!” made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside just a few years ago. You wanted demands coated in sugar to suck on like throat lozenges. But as days go by you stop caring about demands, and instead you start feeling sick at the way the NYPD treats the occupiers, you grow excited that the Spokes Council is kicking off and can streamline the structure of the movement, you start having serious conversations about problems in society and how they affect you. And you stop going to movies. You close down your online dating profile. You don’t read on the subway because you are busy thinking about conversations you’ve had, and you look around at other people and wonder what they are thinking about. Are they thinking? Was I thinking before?

And if you were thinking, you begin to forget everything you were thinking about. New thoughts occupy your mind. Mic check! Mic check! We need to discuss the impartiality of facilitators. Mic check! We need money for a battery pack. Mic check! What do we see as the next step for this movement? Mic check! Student loan debt betrays the American Dream. Mic check! Can we get a temperature check on this proposal? Mic check! Mic check! MIC CHECK—

And you realize that it’s not a dream, not a spectacle, not a trend on Twitter. It’s a sweaty mass of bodies, it’s a cold, hard, concrete ground, it’s a looming and armed police force, it’s a careful orchestration of radically different opinions and needs and values and beliefs. You find yourself returning day after day to the park to participate in an ongoing Think Tank, where people speak freely about their anger, their confusion, about their visions of a better world, about the meaning of all that surrounds you in the park. And one day you are sitting with that group, discussing the role of celebrities and public figures in the movement, and a man says that we are all intellectuals; we are the celebrities, the ones worth celebrating. This is the people’s Think Tank, and our ideas matter. And then it hits you that your mind and soul, until now, had been colonized. You had so completely relinquished the notion of ever demanding a better world, a better life for yourself and for those who suffer alongside you and more profoundly than you, that you would simply prefer that your imagination shut down entirely. Instead of occupying the spaces that cause you to feel pain, to be isolated, to be lonely, instead of believing that a better world can exist, you have hidden away from those spaces, pretended they didn’t exist, masked them with cheap wine and internet chat and downward dog.

And just as the group is concurring on the need for the movement to treat celebrities as normal people, Russell Simmons shows up and demands to skip stack because he is late for yoga; he is denied and sulks away. You look around and realize that you care about these people, their thoughts and experiences, you want to sit for hours with each one of them, hear about their mothers and fathers, what they were doing on 9/11, how they make a living, what kind of music they listen to. A baker from Santa Fe says that everything that’s happening in the park is beautiful and that he wants to break bread with the group; his loaf is passed around and is delicious and nutty. There is a journalist, and he doesn’t get it. He asks all the wrong questions but seems pleased with the answers.

 At night, you march on Wall Street with a group of people, all silent, with a person in front holding a black flag on a tall pole. There are about four cops per marcher following on motorcycle. The lack of speaking is chilling and you march with loud footsteps over the silence, listening to them echo against the surrounding concrete. It’s an odd tribal dance, the cops in the street, marchers on the sidewalk, eyeing each other; representatives from the National Lawyers Guild keep pace, their neon-green hats like beacons of safety amidst the dark of night and the cluster of cops. Upon returning to the park, people hold fists up at you and smile, and everything is so alive, like a flourishing ecosystem overtaking an alien structure and making it home. And you realize that you are at home, mostly, or at least something close to it. But you head for the subway, where your actual home is, the home you pay rent to live in, where you have art on the walls, books on your shelf, a cabinet full of Yogi Tea. It’s only temporary, anyway; you’ll be back tomorrow at your real home, this weird place that has come to occupy your heart, this place that holds you close and tells you that you’re beautiful just the way you are, that understands you and sees how amazing you can be, this place that was made for you, that you helped to make, this place where you can never be alone, can never be lost, can never be afraid as long as you can make it work, can work with each other and respect each other’s sacrifices and needs and human imperfections, this place where there is nothing to do but occupy, which is really everything we need to do and everything you want to be; it’s everything.



Rachel Signer is an anthropologist and journalist who lives in Brooklyn, NYC. 

from Killing the Buddha / CC BY-NC-SA 3.0


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What is Anarchism?

by Peter Kropotkin, 1910

Peter Kropotkin

Image via Wikipedia

ANARCHISM (from the Gr. an and archos, contrary to authority), the name given to a principle or theory of life and conduct under which society is conceived without government – harmony in such a society being obtained, not by submission to law, or by obedience to any authority, but by free agreements concluded between the various groups, territorial and professional, freely constituted for the sake of production and consumption, as also for the satisfaction of the infinite variety of needs and aspirations of a civilized being. In a society developed on these lines, the voluntary associations which already now begin to cover all the fields of human activity would take a still greater extension so as to substitute themselves for the state in all its functions. They would represent an interwoven network, composed of an infinite variety of groups and federations of all sizes and degrees, local, regional, national and international temporary or more or less permanent – for all possible purposes: production, consumption and exchange, communications, sanitary arrangements, education, mutual protection, defence of the territory, and so on; and, on the other side, for the satisfaction of an ever-increasing number of scientific, artistic, literary and sociable needs. Moreover, such a society would represent nothing immutable. On the contrary – as is seen in organic life at large – harmony would (it is contended) result from an ever-changing adjustment and readjustment of equilibrium between the multitudes of forces and influences, and this adjustment would be the easier to obtain as none of the forces would enjoy a special protection from the state.

If, it is contended, society were organized on these principles, man would not be limited in the free exercise of his powers in productive work by a capitalist monopoly, maintained by the state; nor would he be limited in the exercise of his will by a fear of punishment, or by obedience towards individuals or metaphysical entities, which both lead to depression of initiative and servility of mind. He would be guided in his actions by his own understanding, which necessarily would bear the impression of a free action and reaction between his own self and the ethical conceptions of his surroundings. Man would thus be enabled to obtain the full development of all his faculties, intellectual, artistic and moral, without being hampered by overwork for the monopolists, or by the servility and inertia of mind of the great number. He would thus be able to reach full individualization, which is not possible either under the present system of individualism, or under any system of state socialism in the so-called Volkstaat (popular state).

The anarchist writers consider, moreover, that their conception is not a utopia, constructed on the a priori method, after a few desiderata have been taken as postulates. It is derived, they maintain, from an analysis of tendencies that are at work already, even though state socialism may find a temporary favour with the reformers. The progress of modern technics, which wonderfully simplifies the production of all the necessaries of life; the growing spirit of independence, and the rapid spread of free initiative and free understanding in all branches of activity – including those which formerly were considered as the proper attribution of church and state – are steadily reinforcing the no-government tendency.

As to their economical conceptions, the anarchists, in common with all socialists, of whom they constitute the left wing, maintain that the now prevailing system of private ownership in land, and our capitalist production for the sake of profits, represent a monopoly which runs against both the principles of justice and the dictates of utility. They are the main obstacle which prevents the successes of modern technics from being brought into the service of all, so as to produce general well-being. The anarchists consider the wage-system and capitalist production altogether as an obstacle to progress. But they point out also that the state was, and continues to be, the chief instrument for permitting the few to monopolize the land, and the capitalists to appropriate for themselves a quite disproportionate share of the yearly accumulated surplus of production. Consequently, while combating the present monopolization of land, and capitalism altogether, the anarchists combat with the same energy the state, as the main support of that system. Not this or that special form, but the state altogether, whether it be a monarchy or even a republic governed by means of the referendum.

Image via Wikipedia, public domain

The state organization, having always been, both in ancient and modern history (Macedonian Empire, Roman Empire, modern European states grown up on the ruins of the autonomous cities), the instrument for establishing monopolies in favour of the ruling minorities, cannot be made to work for the destruction of these monopolies. The anarchists consider, therefore, that to hand over to the state all the main sources of economical life – the land, the mines, the railways, banking, insurance, and so on – as also the management of all the main branches of industry, in addition to all the functions already accumulated in its hands (education, state-supported religions, defence of the territory, etc.), would mean to create a new instrument of tyranny. State capitalism would only increase the powers of bureaucracy and capitalism. True progress lies in the direction of decentralization, both territorial and functional, in the development of the spirit of local and personal initiative, and of free federation from the simple to the compound, in lieu of the present hierarchy from the centre to the periphery.

In common with most socialists, the anarchists recognize that, like all evolution in nature, the slow evolution of society is followed from time to time by periods of accelerated evolution which are called revolutions; and they think that the era of revolutions is not yet closed. Periods of rapid changes will follow the periods of slow evolution, and these periods must be taken advantage of – not for increasing and widening the powers of the state, but for reducing them, through the organization in every township or commune of the local groups of producers and consumers, as also the regional, and eventually the international, federations of these groups.

In virtue of the above principles the anarchists refuse to be party to the present state organization and to support it by infusing fresh blood into it. They do not seek to constitute, and invite the working men not to constitute, political parties in the parliaments. Accordingly, since the foundation of the International Working Men’s Association in 1864-1866, they have endeavoured to promote their ideas directly amongst the labour organizations and to induce those unions to a direct struggle against capital, without placing their faith in parliamentary legislation.


Peter Kropotkin (1841 – 1921) was a Russian zoologist, activist, philosopher, economist, writer, scientist, evolutionary theorist, geographer and one of the world’s foremost anarcho-communists. This is an excerpt from The Encyclopaedia Brittanica, 1910, transcribed by Anarchy Archives and published in Marxists Internet Archive.

RSA Animate:The Paradox of Choices

RSA Animate, 2011, 10mins 44s

Professor Renata Salecl explores the paralysing anxiety and dissatisfaction surrounding limitless choice. Does the freedom to be the architects of our own lives actually hinder rather than help us? Does our preoccupation with choosing and consuming actually obstruct social change?