Decolonizing Anarchism. Maia Ramnath

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СКАЧАТЬ anarchist share—for example, regarding the role of the state, the nature of industrial development, or attitudes toward modern rationalism? How and in what terms do people embedded in this particular history generate theory and praxis regarding those questions and concerns? Where do I see intersections, articulations, or direct points of contact with the Western anarchist tradition? Why is there a recurring linkage made (in praise and condemnation alike) between anarchism and certain elements of an Indian social movement history, such as the militant wing of the freedom struggle from 1905 to the 1930s, or the postindependence offshoots of Gandhism? Without either taking the equation at face value (given the questionable usage of the word) or dismissing it as groundless (given its persistence), can we identify just what affinities and analogies are being sensed whenever the linkage is made?

      This leads to the second implication, which has to do not just with anarchism’s role in decolonization but also with decolonizing our concept of anarchism itself. That means that instead of always trying to construct a strongly anarcha-centric cosmology—conceptually appropriating movements and voices from elsewhere in the world as part of “our” tradition, and then measuring them against how much or little we think they resemble our notion of our own values—we could locate the Western anarchist tradition as one contextually specific manifestation among a larger—indeed global—tradition of antiauthoritarian, egalitarian thought/praxis, of a universal human urge (if I dare say such a thing) toward emancipation, which also occurs in many other forms in many other contexts. Something else is then the reference point for us, instead of us being the reference point for everything else. This is a deeply ­decolonizing move.

      This is perhaps where I need to make a distinction between the concept of anarchism and the Circle-A brand. The big A covers a specific part of the Western Left tradition dating from key ideological debates in the mid-nineteenth century and factional rivalries in the International Working Men’s Association. It peaked worldwide in the early twentieth century among radical networks that consciously ­embraced the label while nevertheless encompassing multiple interpretations and emphases within it. Genealogically related to both democratic republicanism and utopian socialism, the big A opposed not only capitalism but also the centralized state along with all other systems of ­concentrated power and hierarchy. It bore echoes of earlier radical egalitarian, libertarian, and millenarian movements as well, with their carnivalesque upendings of rank and social norms, and upholding of a pre- or noncapitalist moral economy. These in turn resonated through later Romantic reactions against an excess of Enlightenment positivism, bemoaning the psychic disenchantment as much as the ­material exploitation wrought by industrial capitalism.

      With a small a, the word anarchism implies a set of ­assumptions and principles, a recurrent tendency or orientation—with the stress on movement in a direction, not a perfected condition—toward more dispersed and less concentrated power; less top-down hierarchy and more self-­determination through bottom-up participation; liberty and equality seen as directly rather than inversely proportional; the nurturance of individuality and diversity within a matrix of interconnectivity, mutuality, and ­accountability; and an expansive recognition of the various forms that power relations can take, and correspondingly, the various dimensions of emancipation. This ­tendency, when it becomes conscious, motivates people to oppose or subvert the structures that generate and sustain inequity, unfreedom, and injustice, and to promote or prefigure the structures that generate and sustain equity, freedom, and justice.

      These tendencies, culturally inflected, are certainly present within South Asian history. There is a long tradition, for instance, of radical egalitarianism and subversion of authority, celebrated in the (Muslim) sufi and (Hindu) bhakti movements immortalized through mystical poetry since the thirteenth century. Sikhism was originally founded as an attempt to counter caste hierarchy and religious division through synthesis and egalitarian social relations. The birth and evolution of Buddhism too (along with certain branches of Vedanta) placed a rational and antihierarchical philosophy at the heart of India’s intellectual heritage, countering the Orientalist portrait of Indian culture as essentially defined by hierarchy, ­autocracy, and unreason.[1]

      In this case, those seeking counterparts or solidarities might be guided not by Anarchism but instead by that broader principle, tendency, or orientation of which Western anarchism is one derivation or subset. The Liberty Tree is a great banyan, whose branches cross and weave, touching earth in many places to form a horizontal, interconnected grove of new trunks.

      Some of the touchdown points are in the mutually informing three sections that organize this book. The first section further explores some of these theoretical issues at the nexus of anarchism and anticolonialism. The second is a series of historical chapters focusing on intersections between the Western anarchist tradition and the tapestry of Indian anticolonialism. Such crisscrossings occurred during the peak of propaganda of the deed, a popular tactic for anarchists, nihilists, and radical nationalists alike; at the international high point of syndicalism, linking issues of immigrant labor to an analysis of colonial relationships; and in the presence of critical voices within the development of organized world Communism until defined out by schism or purge. My hope is that the specifics of this history may be one point of access to more generally ­applicable questions.

      The sketches I offer of an alternate history of anticolonialism aren’t complete and certainly don’t solve all problems. This narrative is still dominated by the overwhelming presence of male, upper-caste voices, whereas any truly ­antiauthoritarian, antihierarchical history of India—whether writing or enacting it—has to confront the malignant ­realities of caste and patriarchy. Yet this is not a history of caste or patriarchy, or the movements to dismantle the structures of oppression based on them. So for the purposes of this project, it seemed better to offer what is actually there rather than to simply condemn or discard the record on ­account of what isn’t there—and then continue the efforts it chronicles to broaden and deepen liberation, in practice. (It is crucial to remember that no would-be emancipatory movement, regardless of its primary focus, can afford not to take ubiquitous caste inequities into consideration in its own goals and process, in much the same way that North American movements have to maintain their awareness of race.)

      The third section’s intervention is an attempt to contribute to the conversation on how we go about practices of solidarity. This section also changed considerably during the writing process. As I said, one motivation for this book was the quest for counterparts, for affinity. This means asking, even if the form of anarchism I practice and speak doesn’t necessarily translate. Who is addressing the issues that anarchists address, identifying the structures of power that anarchists identify, utilizing methods and processes that anarchists recognize? How does one behave toward them? How does one participate in global anticolonial struggles? In this sense, the third section is a series of ­proposals, and an invitation to others to elaborate on them.

      Finally, I need to offer a note on geographic limits. I originally meant to define this project as South Asian rather than merely Indian. But as most of the material I was working with pertained to India, it seemed better to call it what it was than to subsume the whole region within an unacknowledged Indian hegemony—which often happens, a primary example of postcolonial neocolonialism. It would be ideal to expand my exploration to a truly South Asian scope, but that effort will take a lot longer. In the meantime, I focus here on India. When I’m speaking of India during the colonial period, however, this also includes areas that later became part of Pakistan and Bangladesh. Nevertheless, I continue to use the term India when referring to the independence struggle before the partition, as both efficient and period appropriate.

      Acknowledgments

      Special thanks to Joshua Stephens and Jude Ortiz for astute comments on early drafts; Cindy Milstein, Josh MacPhee, and Favianna Rodriguez for the gift of your skills; Jai Sen, Subah Dayal, Suzanne Schultz, Tyler Williams, Lex Bhagat, and the members of the organizing collectives of South Asia Solidarity Initiative, Adalah-NY, and New York City’s Anarchist People of Color (APOC), for inspiring me and catalyzing my thinking in some ways you intended, and many other ways that you probably didn’t expect—for which I take СКАЧАТЬ