Armchair Anarchists Suck

ARMCHAIR ANARCHISTS SUCK- A Response to Trolls on @news.

Irony of ironies- some mush-brained, liberal, state-worshipping hack wrote an online article slamming me as an “oddball” because, like all real anarchists, I want to abolish the state… and who is it that agrees with that state-worshipping hack? Other so-called anarchists.

Un-fucking-believable.

I ran for governor in Ohio – from prison – on the promise that, if elected, I would employ a number of radical steps that, foresee-ably, would cause the cataclysmic collapse of the state government. It doesn’t surprise me that the state-worshipping hack, his mind mismanaged and pickled in corporate slime, couldn’t comprehend why my campaign was funny. It also doesn’t surprise me that he couldn’t understand why my campaign was also potentially dangerous. So, he dogged me.

Still, I never thought I’d have to explain myself to anarchists. But, it appears that I do. So-called anarchists are now taking shots at me and continuing the smear work of a reformist, state-worshipping hack, making it necessary for me to explain myself and justify my actions to armchair anarchists whose only “action” involves a jar of peanut butter and the family dog. Here goes:

Reasons my campaign was funny:

      1. I ran for governor from prison. From prison.
      2. I ran for governor in Ohio, a conservative, republican, backwater shithole, a veritable zombie apocalypse that elected and re-elected George Dubya, arguably the most dangerous sociopath to be president, and Bob Taft, arguably the most dangerous fuckweasel to serve as a governor in the history of fuckweaselry.
      3. I was proposing to utterly destroy the oppressive state that this lemming population utterly idolizes, and I was promising to burn down their beloved capitalist system with a can of gasoline and a book of matches.

In short, I was saying everything I could possibly say to not get elected. But the campaign was also potentially dangerous because:

      1. It was funny and it was a mockery of the electoral and political system – and nothing is more dangerous to “authority” and “prestige” than laughter.
      2. This stunt got regional and even national media coverage, which created the chance for people to read my writings and perhaps begin to actually question the legitimacy of the state.
      3. It drove the prison fascists absolutely ape-shit.

Other prisoners knew why it was funny. It made me a minor celebrity. Whereas, before my campaign, I was “that anarchist guy” and nobody quite understood what anarchy was, my campaign made prisoners curious and before long, young black prisoners from the inner-city and from conflicting gang backgrounds were reading Berkman, Kropotkin, Proudhon, Sterner, Goldman, Bakunin, Parsons, and DeCleyre. They had a prison-wide revolution library. Some of them began a writing collective called The Conditions Factory (from a quote by George Jackson, “where the conditions for revolution are not present, they must be manufactured”).None of these prisoners have gone back to sleep. None of them have resumed their assigned seats.

So here I am, years later, still in direct conflict with the fascist fuckweasels. I’ve got the scars to prove it. I’m kicking and punching and drawing blood – fighting for your liberation and mine, fighting so fucking long now that I’m fighting because I don’t remember how to do anything else; I’ve been pegged as the creator of the Army of the 12 Monkeys because, out of 50,000 Ohio prisoners, the fascist fuckweasels concluded that I am the only one who could have done this to them.

I’m not telling you that I’m the most dangerous revolutionary locked up in the State of Ohio…

The State of Ohio is.

So do I get a unified anarchist army coming to my defense, organizing in solidarity, rising up to defy the mind-fuck machine? No. I get sniped by so-called anarchists who want to help a hierarch propagandist throw me under the bus… and they’re doing it now, when I’m more in need of solidarity from real anarchists than ever before.

I have to cut this short because here on the former death row, toilet water is pouring down the walls from the cells above us; Blackjack is strapping a plastic food tray to his arm with a sheet for use as a shield. It’s hard to see through the fog of tear gas. We still have to barricade the door because the fascists with their helmets and shields and weapons are about to march into the special management unit, and all we’ve got are bars of soap in socks and our bare hands to fight back. I can hear 30 raging fists pounding on steel doors, awaiting the clash, toilet water ankle deep on the storm troopers’ jackboots.

Happy Fourth of July.

Not trying to offend anyone here, but to all the armchair anarchists out there who aren’t surviving on a steady diet of teargas and blood: why don’t you stop typing that witty punchline, wipe the peanut butter off your balls, shove the dog to the side, and do something… just an idea. If I live through this, I’ll write more later. The state will get tired of killing us before we get tired of dying.

 

Freedom or Death,

Sean Swain

Anarchist Prisoner of War

Special Management Unit

Mansfield Corruptional Institution

July 4, 2013