Writings from

The Anarchist Rain

by Shaka N’ Zinga

PART II: relief found through nature's rain drops

It has been raining all day today. All I have been hearing this day is how nasty and bad the rainy weather is - I am, of course, in disagreement with such shallow views of nature's beauty. An untamed beauty that can be found in a carefree and soft drizzle or a savage and heavy down pour - this natural and necessary process is loved, enjoyed and cherished by me.

Considerately, today, to show my marrow deep reverence for nature - in spite of being in an unnatural and dehumanizing situation such as prison - in practice, I went out to have a walk in the rain during the yard period. The rain was coming down ever so tenderly, with droplets which felt very much like a sensuous and warm kiss of the long desired Sugar of a lover's sweet and soft lips, with their life giving and reinvigorating powers of transformation, which are just like spring showers.

The states hired guns don't like seeing we captives, the slaves, having any sort of self-determination or self-management - enjoying a thing which is determined by my will and not dependent on their's. So, they, the pigs (correctional officers), of course, paid me a little more attention than customary. For them, much to their disgruntlement, I looked as if I was enjoying an entity that they had been conditioned to view as bad, an entity which they had no control over - that entity coming from nature so beautifully named rain. Those of us captives in chains aren't supposed to be able to have any sort of enjoyment outside of the control of our overseers.

This consideration brought a smile to my rain soothed face; just the thought of finding in such a simple human practice a way to rebel against their sadism, made my walk in that gentle rain that much more pleasant... During this walk, I drifted off into some sort of revolutionary day dream of how things should be. I wasn't completely conscious of this shift in my psychological state. The thoughts that I, the so-called slave whose not capable of such achievements, was formulating in my mind moved along these lines of reflective deliberation - I was talking to myself in a tone just above a whisper:

The revolution, the rebellion against all that harms societies humanity, must be fought daily through our interactions and interrelationships with our own first and foremost. I cannot see us being any sort of example of what ought to be if we haven't, through action and reflection, developed those revolutionary and liberated relations amongst ourselves that reflects the alternative of our Anarchist Ideals.

At this point of my internal discourse, I almost ran head long into a pig, whose look of hatred only added strength to my courage and resolve... plus my internal smile and glow grew that much wider. I apologized, excused myself and proceeded to walk and to continue my Anarchist discourse in the rain with myself and Alexander Berkman, who from out of thin air appears to me declaring, to me, the incorruptible idea about the innate oppressive character and function of all governmental authority and law - in these words:

"What is the thing we call government? Is it anything but organized violence? the law orders you to obey, it will compel by force - all government, all law and authority finally rest on force and violence, on punishment or fear of punishment..."

When he completed sharing his thoughts with me, he said good day, however, before he turned to leave, I quickly asked him to tell Emma that I love her and that she is and will always be alive, wild and free in the liberated zone of my heart, mind and soul. With that comrade Alexander turned, took a step or two, and was gone as quickly as he had appeared, back to the fabled autonomous, communal… anarchist society in the sky... And with a smile I continued where I left off at, dialoguing with myself - contemplating the beauty of anarchism and the courage and wonder of my own humanity:

"That all governments have been instituted to profit the interest of the few, the ruling classes, is a historical fact and present day reality that can never be stressed enough. The whole idea of government is rooted in the repression of the human/the individual's right to be truly free. The laws of the government are the restrictive laws handed down by the ruling capitalist class; restrictive laws that serves to prevent the individual from ever discovering their human potentials to be more than just a well fed slave in the capitalist machine of world domination. The subjective reality of the individual human experiences and creative potentials are constantly negated by the system that push this purist and absolute idea of complete objectivity, must be razed from the minds of those of us who are attempting to commune… As anarchists we do not believe in compelling anyone to think or view the world as we do, so it can and never will be a situation where we will be directing people's lives, against their own will, minus them being intellectually, socially, vocationally aware of what's taking place. We will not employ the oppressive and repressive means of the enemy - government and its laws. The individual's liberty and autonomous self-management… are some of the highest virtues of the anarchist. Bakunin asserted that, "The State... is the most flagrant, the most cynical, and the most complete negation of humanity," a standpoint held to be the State's "supreme duty and its greatest virtue..." It is a social revolution that we aspire to actualized via our anarchist ideals and humanistic outlooks in practice, protracted struggle…

PART III: Revolutionaries cannot remain sane inside the dehumanized design called prison!

And I know that I must be free of this insanity called corrections... Oh, damn, I had spoken too fast and enjoyed too much - I had almost forgotten that the enemy still had control - the cow bell was ringing which signaled the end of the yard period - thus like cows, my brothers, in single file line, allowed themselves to be herded back into the prison/pen by our warders, I of course made them do their sadistic job, they had to call me to come to get the routine pat downs or the humiliating prospect of receiving a body/strip search. And thus, once again, I had my peace shattered and the insanity of being in a situation of captivity shoved down my already stripped and lynched libertarian consciousness... for my freedom I am willing to depart from this insanity... but I just gotta hold on... death on this side of the bars, walls, and razor wire would be another wasted consciousness of revolutionary import... not like George Jackson, my spiritual father, will I die a premature death... The revolution cannot be fought and won from this side.

Yet, in complete rebellion, but for a moment, I was free in spite of the bars, walls, and razor wire. I rebelled, as I walked in a circle around the prison's court yard, in a mental state of loving euphoria and complete bliss. This moment of sanity was enough contact with my humanity to strengthen me with the power to resist the insufferable pain of being a captive in a so-called free land... just a little bit longer. This is the price of resistance we must pay for our continued psychological, emotional and intellectual existence. As Comrade George Jackson wrote in his second and final book "Blood in My Eye", over twenty six years ago, about this price of respite to be paid by we slaves:

As a slave, the social phenomenon that engages my whole consciousness is, of course, revolution. The slave - and revolution.
Born to a premature death, a menial, subsistence-wage worker, odd-job man, the cleaner, the caught, the man under hatches, without bail - that's me, the colonial victim. Anyone who can pass the civil service examination today can kill me tomorrow. Anyone who passed the civil service examination yesterday can kill me today with complete immunity. I've lived with repression every moment of my life, a repression so formidable that any movement on my part can only bring relief, the respite of a small victory or release of death. In every sense of the term, in every sense that's real, I'm a slave to, and of, property.

Before being shoved back inside the door that will take me back into the bowels of the beast defined as prison (an inanimate object that feeds off the souls of the oppressed and dehumanized, souls made insane by its inhumanity), I looked up and from behind the lovely dark rain filled clouds appeared a silver lining - looking very much like freedom's motif to me - and in this silver lining that lined the clouds appeared the revolutionary and love inspiring image of a true Anarchist, the beautiful spectacled face of Emma Goldman spoke these words, word likened unto a warm breeze of a splendid spring evening: "Only in freedom can man grow to his full stature. Only in freedom will he learn to think and move, and give the very best of him. Only in freedom will he realize the true force of the social bonds which knit men together, and which are the true foundation of normal social life."

Now, here in the cage, I have discovered a level of freedom that has long ago informed me of my need to be physically liberated from this dehumanizing design called correction. In spite of the fact that I am still here, I am still fighting, thanks to that rebellious walk in the rain - free indeed, if only for a moment... Given strength to continue my struggle to one day be free of this slave ship that doesn't ever, never, moves - this insane antisocial arraignment called prison, designed in the 1790s by god fearing capitalistic church goers. The Anarchist Rain will erode and then raze it... in a dream, in my imagination, or in reality?

Smashing the chains in my dreams, as I sleep, dreaming of struggling on the other side of these bars, walls, and razor wire… And the war, for my liberty and innocence, continued.

Prisoners