And the State comes marching in, sliding through the mists of the ruling class, sometimes annihilating rouge cells among them, but always intrinsically of them. The members of the class of power…
It washes over our heads sometimes sucking us up into itself, or like a whirlwind, depositing us, suddenly, in frightening new situations.
Like the clouds above us we do not always dwell on it, as we fight it’s gale, but keep our eyes focused straight ahead and struggle through it, rarely against it, for we find it hard to look at in the eye. The eye of the storm…
What do we see when we look straight ahead, not up and not down at the dying and suffering masses below?
Two worlds, superimposed on the same blank reality in which the braver ones among us try also to express themselves.
TWO WORLDS. Two Markets. One black and one… shiny? Too dirty to be called white
The criminal underworld is an essential part of the capitalist system. The chaos that exists there, made possible, given birth to by the fact it is made criminal. But the state that does so is of them.
Capitalists. Thieves. Murderers. Liars. Depositing their profits in the same banks, living in the same neighbourhoods, going to the same meetings. The storm of the state it suits them fine, so long as they ain’t the ones getting rained on.
“We got a good little operation going out here. We got these guys running around in blue shirts all over the town, see, and they’re telling people they’re gonna lock em up, beat em up, make em sit and get judged and their life’s gonna be hell, just cos they got some of these substances here on em. And every once in a while they do it, just to remind em. And we keep on selling it to the kids, and the adults, and they keep on buying it. But because everyone’s so damn scared of the guys we’ve got with the blue shirts, we can charge whatever we fucking want for it. We got guys at the border to control how much of the stuff gets through, ya see? They wave on through the guys shipping it over to us, and they unleash hell on anyone else trying to ship it in. They got a slightly different shirt that they wear. And the beautiful thing about it is, we don’t have to pay any of these guys wages. We take money off the people to pay them for us, so we control the supply and the demand, and rake in the profit for no cost.”
Shut up about Legalise, Socialise the drug industry. Give the power to the people, the people who take drugs.
We’ll decide about supply and demand, We’ll decide what’s good for us: not the black market, not the other one. The Straight one. The one where drug company agents meet in private with politicians and decide what particular shit they can force down the throat of a mental patient somewhere is gonna make them the most money. This is a deal made between people of the same class. This is what gives the concept of a ruling class its coherency.
They don’t all talk the same, look the same, think the same. But they are in a position to make deals with one another, deals in which both sides manifest a form of power, power which has an interest directly contrary to our own.
They are alike in that they have power. This is all that qualifies them for membership in the class.
This is one of the reasons we must never let our organisations be structured in such a way as to give particular individuals or groups too much power, or they will simply be traitors in our own ranks, members of the enemy class masquerading as leaders of our class.
The working class has no leaders. No-one can speak for it, for we have billions of voices, billions of minds, billions of opinions about anything you name. A true “workers state” as in a single global structure which was truly of and controlled by the people, would have to be so decentralised and internally tolerant of such a diversity of modes of operating that it would be…
Why, it would be Anarchy.
Well we want Anarchy on Drugs. We want to go to war, on drugs, against capitalism, not fight a War On Drugs for capitalism.
We want to sit around doing our thing, sorting our own lives out, working together in a fun and chilled out way, and have our own fucking space to do it in. We want access to the fruits of the earth, for us to eat from and use to build stuff with, not have it all fenced off, cut down, blown up or stuffed full of sewage. And if we’re doing ok, the crops are doing well, we’re making a lot of useful stuff, and everyone’s got what they need or on the way to getting it, why the fuck shouldn’t we mix some chemicals together, or pluck some plants and fungus off the ground and see how it makes us feel? What the fuck us else is there to do?
But no, we gotta work “surplus” time, to make “surplus” value so the owners of the business can sit on their big fat surpluses. And that’s if we’re “free” workers. Slaves don’t even get the luxury of being lied to.
But we are all slaves to debt anyway, even if we don’t categorise ourselves as “bonded labourers”, who does?
They say we owe them all this money. I don’t remember borrowing anything like that off them. They call it “interest”. It’s in their interest to say we owe them more than we do? Well of course it is.
It’s in my interest not to pay them back. Not to kill myself working at some job I hate just to pay back money to people that already have more than enough, just from asserting their “interest”. Well it’s time for us to start asserting our interests, muthafukkas.
“We got another pretty good situation going out here, if you’re interested. We got these guys at the borders I was telling you about before, you know? They also stop people coming in and out and make sure they got a little piece of paper we made up, says if they can go in or not, you know? And we don’t give these out that easy to people you know? We make em run around in circles for it. So when they come anyway, which you know, we cant do anything about really, no matter how guys in blue we’ve got, they got to sneak themselves in right? And we keep making it harder and harder for them to sneak through by themselves, so they gotta pay somebody to get them through, see? So what we do is, we got some of our guys down there taking money to get people through, I mean, we know the damn holes in the fences better than anyone, cos we built the fuckin’ things, right? And we don’t just take their money to get em through, when we’ve got em on the other side we make em work for us, tell em they owe us interest and we’ll let em know when they’d paid it off. So it don’t matter so much what the damn minimum wage is, that we pretend to the white people that the boys in blue are gonna make sure they get. We got all the cheap labour we need, and a good chunk of its free too. So why don’t you write in that newspaper of yours, buddy, about how these foriegn guys we got working for us are scum and all the rest of the people should hate em, so they’ll be happy when we put up even more fences and pay em even less? We can make it worth your while, and you know we’re good for it.”
A deal made by members of the same class. People who move in the same circles. Powerful people make deals with other powerful people, and together they create a network of interests which constitutes a system. A class system. A system of a particular class, which exists because it’s members operate as parts in a particular system.
We must make deals with one another, networks, systems, of a particular class, of our own class. We must bring the working class into existence by creating our systems. Or bring it into a different existence, not as a class of workers for capitalists, but a class of workers for themselves.
But that is where the similarity must end. Our systems can not be based on direct exchange, like theirs. The deals that we make must be more meaningful than that. Unconditional cooperation, until proven guilty of betrayal of the class by acting in the interests of power. A harsh morality, but a beautiful one when put into place.
Vive l’communisme anarchiste!
Cos that’s what I’m talking about, people. Working together, here and now, with or without money. Giving our labour to one another, not selling it to the big enemies or the small ones, or when we do, working together again as we do so, to resist their tyranny in the workplace and make sure our wages our spent on making our lives better and our communities ability stronger, by which we mean more able to live free of the enemy. Worker’s co-ops, grassroots worker’s unions, community campaigns and communal community resources, all together, part of the same struggle, the struggle of our class. Without the struggle, what is the class?
Does it even exist if no-one is struggling in it’s interest? Or is it just an incoherent mass of flesh, more mist for the storm to suck up into itself, to consume in order to make thunder and lightning?
What do you want it to be?