I would of cooked free food for the people.
Had the “people” not been turned into “consumers” and the consumers, into the very lifeblood of the capitalist machine.
Instead I am an Anarchist, and my fight is for the people, not the consumer. For I am neither the lifeblood, nor the force of this capitalist machine, I am the revenge it bequeathed.
I would of been a teacher of philosophy.
Had the Universities and Colleges not insisted on a pocket-gauging, exuberant tuition from its students, forcing them into debts that are unpayable for degrees, such as philosophy that amount to nothing in the realm of Capitalism, where money, and not ethics takes the foray.
Instead I am an Anarchist, and I have taught myself everything I know from books that I have cherished more then any businessperson can cherish their wallet. I will willingly die for what I believe, for righteousness is a virtue, as any philosopher can tell you.
I would of been a migratory gypsy
had borders not been invented, nor states to manage and government to do the managing, labeling me as either a tourist or refugee though I know no country nor home.
Instead I am an anarchist, and with every brick that goes up to define borders, we will topple three with heavy swings of the hammer from both sides of the fence, and with every state that is in fact a government as well, we will become unmanageable and we will dream of such a decline where nothing can come in-between us except distance.
I could of been a farmer
had the Capitalist system not stemmed from private property and the power of ownership, demanding that all land that was once held in common be divided up and sold according to its worth.
Instead I am an Anarchist, and though I may grow a few of my own vegetables in a small garden-bed behind my house, it is not enough to share among my neighbors, and so I fight for communal land that is without a price for all creatures born of the earth to share, for the earth does not have a price nor a deed or ownership, just an expiry date.
I could of been an artist
had the arts not been thwarted by the liberal bourgeoisie who cling to culture like they cling to the capitalist establishment that created them, creating out of the “arts”, a market, that can be bought and sold like any other commodity and whose “use-value” is “subjective” and based on trends catered to by the said “liberal bourgeoisie”
Instead I am an Anarchist, and I have taken on the responsibility, not only to create a new system where creativity is allowed to flourish for the sake of culture and not for markets, but also to destroy this current system we call capitalism, that poisons and taints all things it touches. My “use-value” is my revolutionary subjectivity, and it is not a trend but a culmination of my life.
I could of been a Hermit.
Had Capitalism not placed a stigma on being homeless, or a wanderer, a recluse , or for begging or talking to strangers, assuming that any individual who fell under these certain categories is more likely to be a danger to society, rather then a benefit.
Instead I am an Anarchist, and my only wish is for a cottage in the woods where I can gather fruits and nuts and sit-cross legged beside a boiling kettle over a raging little fire teaching travelers in metaphors and euphemisms. Until that day when Capitalism disappears, and so too does the stigma, I shall be restless and I will give up meditation for armed resistance and with a grin on my face, I will be singing on the Barricades both a funeral hymn and a celebratory mass. This will be my true benefit to society, and my euphemisms, just my saving grace.
I could of been a lover
had economics not tainted love by creating classes, separating soul-mates who meet in the chaos of true love, because of their position or salary which determines their success, both as individuals and as a couple in the discord of Capitalism.
Instead I am an Anarchist, and I will love unconditionally, all people who struggle unknowingly under the boot of Capitalism. My lovers will admire me, not for my material success, but rather my revolutionary success, which cannot be examined on simple economic terms for it is much more profound then anything that capitalism produces, it is spiritual, it is true love.
I could of been a Poet
had words not lost their value in favor of propaganda that hoists the state and capital to a level of superiority, churning out work that can barely be called poetry, all for the martial success of publishing houses and the poets who they enslave.
Instead I am an Anarchist, and my poetry belongs in the streets, for it is the poetry of the people, a dispossessed and malignant people, whose only curse is their dreams of a world where all tyrants meet their just fate at the hands of a righteous people.
I could of been many things
had there not been so many obstacles, so many struggles, so many inequalities that prevent us from living the lives that we want. Capitalism only creates more suffering, it benefits only the rich, and attacks the poor and marginalized, only adding chaos to years of nationalistic fervor that have been brewing since the dawn of civilization, separating people who are all inherently equal because of race, class, religion, gender or sexuality.
Instead I am an Anarchist, and I know no country or nation, nor hold any allegiance to such a notion of state, for I am a worker of the world. My sisters and brothers, my comrades are many, and this many makes it impossible to say for certainty an exact number or even the names, and yet I know that they stand behind me as I stand behind them and together we wish for a world of dreams, dreams that we can share, dreams that we can hold in common, that defeats capitalism, nationalism, religious dogmatism and gender/sexual discrimination and persists on the idea:
“ by and from each according to their ability, for and to each according to their need”
solidarity to all who stand in the face of Fascism