by Penny Tangey
‘I’ve just arrived from Australia,’ I say.
Eric is slightly interested. ‘Australia, right. I know a few anarchists from there. They’re hardcore.’
This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen. I hope Eric doesn’t start throwing hardcore anarchist names at me to see if I’ve met them.
‘We also have good beaches,’ I say.
Eric presses on, unsmiling. ‘Do you know where the most hardcore anarchists are though? Germany.’
‘Really?’ says Campbell, leaning forward to join the conversation. ‘The Spanish are hardcore too. But on my trip I found there was a lot of misogyny in the Spanish anarchists groups.’
‘Do you know who’s also like that?’ says Eric. ‘The South Africans. Remember that guy Bob from South Africa? Belle says he was a total male chauvinist.’
Campbell nods. ‘That doesn’t surprise me. Did I tell you he’s been defending anarcho-capitalism on the Anarchist Forum?’
Eric snorts derisively and says, ‘South Africans!’ in a what-are-you-gonna-do tone of voice.
My dad was born in South Africa. Perhaps I should stick up for him. Except that even though Dad’s not a male chauvinist, he’s also definitely not an anarchist, so whatever I say probably won’t help.
I ask, ‘When will the meeting start?’
Campbell says, ‘I guess now.’ He raises his voice. ‘Okay, guys. We have a quorum!’ Everyone laughs – I suppose it’s an in-joke.
‘Let’s go around the group for updates.’
Starting with the girl sitting on the other side of Campbell, everyone in the group gives a report on their latest anarchist activities.
A new Eastern Seaboard Anarchist Internet Forum has been set up. There will be a film night on Radical Veganism next week. An Extremely Free Market will be held next week at Dupont Circle; you bring along goods to exchange – no money allowed.
As we progress around the circle I stop listening because I’m trying frantically to think of something to say. What have I done in the last week? Gone to Reading Beyond Bars. Sent my Christmas presents to Australia. Visited the Spy Museum. Criticised American coffee. Watched The West Wing. None of these things seem appropriate and some of them might result in my being kicked out of the group. Although I’m not sure which ones.
By the time it’s Eric’s turn, I’m so nervous that I can’t listen to a word he says. ‘Call gone out . . . controversial . . . twentieth of January.’
Campbell interrupts him. ‘Eric, we’re going to talk about that in a few minutes. Do you mind if we come back to it then?’
Eric is surprisingly unfussed at being put off. ‘Fine,’ he says.
The tea-cosy girl from Reading Beyond Bars speaks up. ‘Eric, can I check that you feel that your voice has been heard?’
‘Yeah, Belle. It’s cool.’
The tea-cosy girl is called Belle. I must try to remember that.
Campbell turns to me. ‘Do you want to introduce yourself to the group?’
‘Hi. I’m Clara,’ I say. ‘I’m from Australia.’ I see heads inclined expectantly, waiting to hear more. But I have nothing else to say. I blurt out, ‘That’s it. I only just arrived.’
Campbell says, ‘Maybe you could tell us what sorts of things you’re into in Australia.’
My mind goes blank. What do I do in Australia? I remember. ‘I just finished school. I’m going to university next year. I might study law.’
Eric snorts.
I flush, hoping I didn’t sound arrogant. ‘Well, I mean, I’m not sure if I’ve got in yet.’
Eric says, ‘You do know this is an anarchist collective?’
Of course, left-wing people always think lawyers are evil. I try to make it sound better. ‘Well, I might be a legal-aid lawyer or do human-rights stuff or environmental law or something.’
Eric snorts again.
Campbell says, ‘Right. Thanks for that everyone.’
I sit back in my seat feeling flushed. I think about what I said. I’m an idiot. Of course anarchists don’t like lawyers. Wikipedia says anarchists oppose anyone having authority over anyone else, and the law is all about authority.
Campbell is continuing, ‘We’ll go back to the issue Eric raised. Perhaps we should recap what happened during the election.’
I am pleased that they’re talking about the election first. At least I understand the basics of the election; first African-American president, historic day, jubilation and so forth.
‘Yeah, cool. Do you mind if I start?’ asks Belle.
‘Go ahead,’ says Campbell.
Belle says, ‘Cool. So we went down to the Bethesda polling booth and handed out some literature. There weren’t many of us though because lots of people in the collective kind of wanted to vote.’ She pauses here as though she’s said something momentous before continuing, ‘I don’t want to name names, but some people from the collective did vote, which some other people from the collective thought was kind of uncool. So there was tension, which I personally thought was very uncool.’
As Belle speaks Eric is getting more and more agitated beside me. He bursts out, ‘Voting is more than uncool. It’s fucking hypocritical.’ He glares around the room. ‘If you oppose the centralised government and sham democracy then you can’t vote in elections that give the appearance of legitimacy to their domination. Come on, this is basic stuff.’
A couple of people clap.
‘I voted,’ says a girl sitting on a couch opposite me. ‘And I’m not sorry I did. I wanted a black president. So what? You want to tell me I can’t be an anarchist now?’
I look at Eric to see how he’ll respond. The girl is African American. Surely Eric won’t keep arguing with her?
‘I’m saying, Hannah,’ he says, ‘that what makes you an anarchist is behaving consistently with anarchist principles.’
Hannah is seriously pissed off and says, ‘Since when are you the judge of anarchist principles? How can you decide who is and isn’t a “proper” anarchist? I don’t see how policing other people’s actions is consistent with your principles.’
‘I’m not policing you. I’m expressing an opinion.’
Another guy joins in. ‘This was an emotional time for everyone. Maybe we should be happy that we’ve got rid of George Bush. Obama’s got to be better than him.’
‘What, you mean change from the inside?’ asks Eric. He laughs nastily.
‘Jesus, Eric, that’s not what he said. You are such a pig,’ says Hannah.
Eric and Hannah are glaring at each other. Other people are murmuring among themselves. I hate confrontation. I want everyone to get along, agree, and say nice things to each other.
Maybe I could buy a lemon, lime and bitters from the bar? It’s hot and it would be lovely to hold a refreshing drink in my hand. But it might be rude for me to walk away.
‘Maybe we should talk about the inauguration,’ Campbell breaks in. All the faces turn towards our chair. ‘There’s been a call to action put out so how do we want to respond to that? Do we want to participate?’
‘No,’ says Hannah forcefully. ‘We’ll just seem like a group of marginal whiners. It’s a waste of time.’
‘We did protest the last inauguration though,’ says Campbell.
‘Yes, because it was Bush,’ says Hannah.
‘It wasn’t just him though!’ cries Eric. ‘It’s the whole system! Electing Obama won’t change anything.’
Campbell interjects again, waving a flyer he’s holding. ‘Well, anyway, I raised the issue because there’s going to be a meeting on January the third to discuss possible actions during the inauguration. So I wanted to let everyone know about it and obviously we can all make our own individual decisions about whether to go.’
There are murmurs of agreement from most people a
lthough Eric continues to shoot menacing looks at Hannah, who is fiddling with her hair and won’t look at him.
Campbell moves on to the next item, which has something to do with the food cooperative needing more jars. I’m losing interest. Everyone is using a lot of terms I don’t understand and talking about things I’ve never heard of. No one ever seems to agree on anything except scheduling more meetings. The discussion goes on and on and I get hotter and thirstier.
A girl on the other side of the group gives a report on an Animal Liberation raid planning meeting. Everyone’s attention is on her so I go to the bar for a drink.
The barman looks at me like I’m mental when I ask for a lemon, lime and bitters. ‘Say what?’ he says.
I try to speak more clearly. People have trouble with my accent sometimes. ‘Could I please have a lemon, lime and bitters?’
‘You mean a lemon soda?’ he says, speaking slowly as though I’m the one who’s having trouble understanding.
I say yes. Even though it’s not what I meant. He hands me the drink and tells me the price. I pay with the exact money, taking the opportunity to offload some quarters and dimes from my bulging wallet. My face is hot and I press the cool glass against it for a moment before I turn back to the group.
As I’m walking away I hear the barman mutter something behind me. I turn around.
He shrugs at me and spreads out his hands. ‘No tip?’
I don’t understand the rules for tipping. On my first day in DC I caused great confusion when I tried to tip the cashier in the supermarket. Mum almost died laughing. This time it hadn’t even occurred to me to give a tip. Hoping no one in the group noticed, I fumble with my wallet. I only have a five-dollar note. I thrust it at him.
‘You want change?’ he asks.
By now I’m so embarrassed that I’d pay anything to escape. ‘No, no, that’s fine,’ I say.
I walk towards the group. As I sit down the waitress approaches me. ‘Uh, you can’t sit here with that.’ She’s pointing at my drink.
I stand up quickly. Everyone in the group is looking at me.
‘What?’ I say.
‘You bought that at the bar,’ she says as if I’m a very stupid child. ‘You have to drink it at the bar cos they got your tip, not me. You can’t sit in my area and give the barman your tip. It’s not fair.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I didn’t realise.’ Now the anarchists will think I’m a heartless bitch who doesn’t care about the underpaid workers of the world. ‘I’ll go back.’
‘Wait,’ says Campbell. He turns to the waitress, smiling. ‘Sorry, she’s from Australia. Can she finish this drink and we’ll make sure she buys the next one from you?’
The waitress hesitates. Clearly this is a matter of principle for her, but Campbell’s charm is hard to resist. ‘Okay,’ she says finally. Then she takes orders from the rest of the group. I am so embarrassed. Why can’t I do anything right? Campbell has moved over on the chair and there’s no room for me anymore. Instead I perch on the arm of the chair, towering above everyone and feeling exposed.
‘Right then,’ says Campbell. ‘Shall we get back to it?’ And the talking continues.
By the time Campbell finally announces the end of the meeting it has been going for two hours. I have been perched on the arm of the chair for a full hour with one foot on the floor and the other one dangling down. I stand up and realise that my dangling foot has gone to sleep. It screams agony as the blood rushes back to it. I surreptitiously try to bang it against the back of the chair to wake it up.
Campbell turns to me. ‘So, what did you think?’
‘I’m so sorry about the drink. I didn’t know about the rule.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘I’m sorry about interrupting the meeting and embarrassing the group and everything. People must think I’m such an idiot.’
‘I doubt it,’ he says.
‘Well, anyway I feel bad and I’m really—’
Campbell interrupts me. ‘Listen, I’m sorry about this but I’ve got to head off straight away tonight.’
He can’t wait to get away from me, I’m so boring.
‘The others will probably hang out here,’ he continues. ‘You can stay if you want.’
I don’t want to stay without Campbell. Anyway it’s getting dark and I don’t want to get home too late. ‘No. I’d better go home. I have to cook tea for my mum.’ Oh God. I sound like a housewife.
‘How are you getting home?’
‘Train.’
‘Do you want to walk to the station with me?’
‘That would be really good.’
Campbell waves goodbye to a few people as we head towards the door. Eric jumps in front of us.
‘Hey,’ says Campbell. ‘I’m heading off.’
‘I need to talk to you about the direction of the collective,’ says Eric. ‘I mean, if we can’t agree on any principles, what’s the point? What are we meeting for?’
‘Eric, we’re a synthesis group, we’re supposed to be okay with dissent,’ says Campbell.
‘Yeah, but we’re all still supposed to be anarchists. And these guys aren’t.’ Eric waves his hand at the group. I flush, knowing that he’s talking about me too.
Campbell nods thoughtfully. ‘You do have a point,’ he says. ‘Maybe you should organise a discussion night.’
Eric is excited. ‘Sure,’ he says. ‘And I’ve got some great new pamphlets to show you.’
‘Cool,’ says Campbell. ‘Sorry, but I have to leave. It’s my mom’s fiftieth birthday party tonight.’
Eric says, ‘Oh, okay then.’ But he sounds annoyed.
As Campbell pushes open the door and walks out I wave at Eric. ‘It was nice to meet you,’ I say.
Eric tips his hat and I’m fairly sure he is being sarcastic.
There’s an icy wind outside and it’s colder than when I arrived. I pull my gloves on. I’m relieved I don’t have to walk to the station alone now that it’s dark. We pass a brightly lit restaurant. All the young professional couples are in there now instead of out on the street.
‘I probably won’t study law,’ I blurt out.
‘Really?’
‘It was something I used to want to do when I was younger.’ Well, when I was three weeks younger, anyway.
‘So what did you think of the meeting?’ Campbell asks. ‘I mean apart from not ordering your drink right, which was obviously a complete embarrassment to the group.’ My stomach turns over, but then I see that he’s grinning at me. He’s joking.
I’m not sure what he wants me to say. ‘It was interesting.’
‘Which parts interested you?’
‘Oh, all of it.’ I wave my arms expressively. I don’t want to pick something and then have Campbell say that that was actually the least interesting part. Like how I managed to visit the most boring parts of DC.
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘How about, for example, the controversial election stuff. What did you think of that?’
‘I don’t know anything about it.’
‘That’s okay, I’d be interested in your perspective as someone new to the group.’
‘Well, I was wondering why anarchists don’t like elections.’
‘Do you like elections?’
‘Well, they are a bit crap,’ I say hesitantly. ‘I mean, they’re just a big publicity exercise, aren’t they? No one talks about the issues.’
Campbell nods enthusiastically. He says, ‘What anarchists say is that it’s not enough anyway. Winning an election every four years doesn’t give a group of people the right to restrict other people’s liberty. Anyway, the government wants to entrench existing economic interests and exploit workers.’
‘So you don’t think Obama will be different?’
‘No. I can kind of understand why people are excited about Obama becoming president, but basically he won’t make any substantial difference. It’s the system that’s the problem.’
‘So you didn’t vote then?’ I ask.
‘No.’
‘Did you get in trouble?’
‘Why would I be in trouble?’
‘Don’t you have to vote unless there’s a serious reason why you can’t, like being in a coma?’
‘No.’
‘That’s how it is in Australia.’
‘That’s terrible!’ Campbell has stopped in the middle of the street and is staring at me. ‘What happens if you don’t vote?’
‘There’s a fine.’
‘That’s terrible,’ he repeats.
‘It’s only fifty dollars or something.’
‘That’s not the point.’
I try half-heartedly to defend Australia’s electoral system. ‘Well, at least the vote actually represents the public’s opinion.’
‘But people shouldn’t be forced to participate in public life. It’s a complete contradiction to force people to vote.’
I wish I hadn’t brought it up. I haven’t voted yet but I’ve been with Dad a few times. I like the idea of everyone doing the same thing on the same day. Elections bring people together. And after you’ve voted, you can have lunch at the sausage sizzle. There are stalls and one time I bought some nice jam. Lots of people complain about the time it takes, but half an hour every few years isn’t a big deal. Everyone has to do things they don’t want to. Anyway, you don’t have to vote. You just have to turn up to the polling station and have your name ticked off. You can leave the ballot paper blank if you want to.
But I can’t explain all this to Campbell. I’m terrified by the idea of getting into a debate with him. Not just because I don’t know anything about anarchism, but also because I don’t know much about politics in general. I can’t even remember if we have federal elections every three years or every four.
So I say, ‘Yeah, I guess it’s kind of stupid.’
