German translation of ZS from Unrast.

Ramor Ryan

Zapatistischer Frühling

Anatomie eines subversiven Wasserprojektes und Lektionen in internationaler Solidarität

aus dem Englischen von Katja Rameil
ISBN 978-3-89771-042-9
Erscheinungsdatum: Juni 2012


Translated by Katja Rameil  
http://www.rameil-translations.com/en/

Interview with Danish Journal

Ramor Ryan

Short Interview with some Danish Magazine
Thanks to Mikas Larsen.



Author:  Ramor Ryan
Book: Zapatista Spring (AK Press)

What did you do before coming to Chiapas (live, study, work)? 
 Lived in an autonomous squatting community in  East Berlin after the Wall came down.

When did you leave for Mex?  
1st January, 1995.

Why? 
Inspired by the Zapatista uprising in Chiapas, by the new language of emancipation they spoke and embodied, and for the similarities with autonomous idea of the Zapatista municipalities and the seed of which we had been trying to create in Europe with our autonomous communities in squats etc.  Frustrated by the lack of hope/radical potential in an increasingly neo-liberal and hostile-to-migrant Europe.

How would you describe the situation then?
A revolt blossoming, brimming with possibilities. It really seemed that a new world was not only possible but just around the next corner.

How was the Zapatista movement back then?
Exuberant. Overflowing with indigenous people wanting to join up and internationals enamoured by the writings of subcomandante Marcos. There was a real sense of of changing history, of being part of a revolutionary moment, of transformation. Anything seemed possible. 

How would you describe the development of the movement? (and when did the foreigners get thrown out?)
Too broad a question, it would take a book to answer! The foreigners got thrown out (1997-98) because of the appalling strategy of the PRI government of the time who seemed to be saying that the indigenous of Chiapas were not capable of organising their own revolt, that they must be directed by 'foreign agents' and therefore the Chiapas problem was foreign interference -- not institutionalised injustice, deep racism and the exclusion of a whole strata of society.  

What was your role in the events? What is it today?
 See my book Zapatista Spring! Today, things are more complicated: the Zapatistas say they don't need direct solidarity in the communities from internationals like in the 90's with the peace and solidarity encampments which brought thousands of global activists in contact with the 
grass roots Zapatistas. The situation is changing, now they are focusing on their own internal development and building everyday, practical autonomy in their communities. Be a Zapatista wherever you are, they say, now more than ever.

How would you describe the present situation in Chiapas? And what is the movement like now?
It is a period of subterranean springs, where the Zapatistas instead of being prominent political actors in Mexican society, are moving quietly in the shadows and fortifying their position. Interestingly, the biggest single manifestation of their numbers occurred this year (2011) in San Cristobal, when more than 20,000 base indigenous emerged onto the streets to raise their voice against the Drug War ravaging Mexico.

Which are the most important recent changes and events (the state)? 
The main story for the whole of the Presidency of Calderon (PAN) has being the catastrophic drug war which is devastating the social fabric of the country and in turn, the potential of the previously massive and powerful social movement.  The drug war is a consequence of the US market for a (proscribed) product and involves vast segments of the Mexican state collaborating with criminals to supply that demand. In a nutshell: Raw, ferocious capitalism and the unmitigated pursuit of profit. 

How do you see the future of the movement?
After the winter must come spring. In a bleak almost hopeless scenario, the social movements - and the Zapatistas as part of that - hold the key to returning Mexico into a place of hope once more, beyond the horror of the narco-state. 

-Ends.




Sharing Common Ground


I recently finished reading Zapatista Spring: Anatomy of a Rebel Water Project & The Lessons of International Solidarity, by Ramor Ryan. I really enjoyed it, so I thought I'd share bits of why this book is a satisfying and compelling one. 

Ryan is a translator and activist from Ireland with anarchist leanings (he doesn't dwell too much on the exact nature of his political views in this book). When he wrote Zapatista Spring he had been working with Zapatista base communities in rural Chiapas, with the help of like-minded activists, to install water systems that deliver clean drinking water to the communities in question. 

Maybe some background. For those of you who don't know, the Zapatista movement emerged in the mid-90's, in the southern Mexican state of Chiapas, as an indigenous peasant uprising to assert human rights in the face of extreme poverty and to mount an attack on neoliberal economic policies (especially the passage of the North American Free Trade Agreement, a specific effect of which was the opening up of the indigenous ejido system of communal land ownership to privatization) that they saw as posing a direct threat to their livelihoods and ways of life. On New Year's Day, 1994, adherents of the Zapatista National Liberation Army (EZLN is the Spanish acronym) publicly emerged after over a decade of organizing to declare war on the Mexican government, storming and seizing control of towns and cities in Chiapas. Several hundred thousand hectares of Chiapas land were, in the words of the EZLN, "recuperated" and distributed amongst it's many members. They've since shifted to a more nonviolent revolutionary strategy, focusing their resources on developing a network of autonomous municipalities on their recuperated land in order to provide themselves with the makings of a good life, outside of the state and capitalism. The Mexican army regards them with hostility, declaring their autonomous territory a "war zone" and manning its borders with armed soldiers. 

The international spokesperson of the Zapatistas, Subcomandante Marcos, has issued many communiques that detail the demands, political orientation, and philosophy of the Zapatistas. From Marcos' writings, as well as observations of their community structure, it is known that the Zapatistas lean towards what could be described as an anarchist/libertarian socialist outlook. Their system of self-governance emphasizes participatory democracy, with each community organizing a general assembly which sends delegates to larger assemblies in order to make decisions and develop the communities. The Zapatista organizational method’s direct democratic, anti-authoritarian tendencies have garnered solidarity from a global network of anarchists and like-minded activists. Many of these global sympathizers have travelled to the Zapatista communities to express their solidarity by assisting with community development projects. This is where Ryan comes in.

This book details his work, with two other "solidarity water workers" to assist the inhabitants of the Zapatista hamlet of Roberto Arenas in constructing a network of pipes to deliver spring water from a nearby mountain to the community member's homes. Zapatista Spring describes the messy, exciting, and achingly real process of doing that. 

I appreciate Ryan's solid dedication to the titular theme of solidarity, which is a near-constant presence in this book. He is clear in his narration as to the nature of the work he strives for with the people of Roberto Arenas: he and the other water workers are fellow revolutionaries who hope to assist the community members in asserting their rebel autonomy. They are comrades (compañeros) in a larger struggle to challenge capitalism and state repression. They are not paid staff of an international aid NGO, philanthropists, or other roles that imply a relationship of charity and dependence. Ryan and the other members of the water team are careful to involve community members in all stages of the design and implementation of the water system, in order to create a system that truly serves their needs and can be readily maintained by them well into the future. They are adamant about listening to the perspectives of female community members, whose voices are rarely present in the village's general assembly. They strive to honor the idea that this project is not just about a water system, but about furthering the revolutionary goals of the Zaptistas. With that in mind, they attempt to embody the ideals of the revolution in the process of implementing the water system. 

As the subtitle of this book implies, this process is anything but simple. The largely Western group of activist water workers must constantly grapple with the cultural, economic, and linguistic gaps between themselves and the community members they are working with. Far from being a prosperous village populated by zealous revolutionaries committed to the ideals that Subcomandante Marcos espouses, the people of Roberto Arenas are largely illiterate, resource-poor, and (as later events demonstrate) wavering in their support of the EZLN organization. Despite having access to the natural riches of the Lacondan jungle (a relatively pristine ecology that was at the time of writing being partitioned off and exploited by private investors), the population still suffers from malnutrition and preventable disease (and therefore death). Additionally, the socially conservative nature of the base communities lends itself to patriarchal practices, adherence to authoritarian relations, and a disciplined, pious public demeanor. These social conditions are not only unfamiliar to the leftist water workers, but often antithetical to their political practice. Striking the delicate balance between cultural pluralism and advocating for more progressive norms is an ongoing theme. For example, the water workers continually agitate for the traditionally downplayed needs of the female community members in the village’s general assembly, a practice that initially ruffles the feathers of the presiding patriarchs, but eventually results in material gains for the women. Reconciling these cultural differences while acknowledging the common points of solidarity the two groups share is an ongoing process of altering assumptions about what living in a revolutionary peasant community means and looks like. 

Yet the two groups do share common ground. Most obvious is their shared resistance to capitalist development and state repression. The water workers come to this point from the world of academic political theory and their observations of capitalism’s corrosive tendencies; the campesinos arrive largely out of material necessity, through experiencing and knowing firsthand the pain of abject poverty and historical dispossession. To them the abstractions of theory are of little comfort (or relevance) if concrete material improvements in their lives are not achieved. Throwing in their lot with the EZLN was an act of faith in the ability of the organization to provide them with a better life, and any developments must be judged by to what degree they accomplish that. 

And to be sure, they enjoy some degree of collective security: their communal and personal plots of corn and vegetables, as well as a litany of livestock, provide them with adequate sustenance and a small income. Income is used to purchase new tools, building materials, and other items to improve the village living conditions. There is also a palpable sense of community and collectivity in the village; a lived practice of social solidarity that eases the pains of poverty and enlivens the everyday tasks of collecting water and weeding the corn fields with laughter and conviviality. Life is imperfect, but it could be much worse. 

And to aid in the development of this struggling but bold rebel autonomy, the water workers bring the knowledge and materials needed to construct a water system. They work with the community to determine needs, organize the necessary labor, and finally to implement the means by which pathogen-free water will be piped directly to the village center. This is accomplished successfully, with only minor structural errors, and thus another layer of security and autonomy is added to life in Roberto Arenas. 

Years later, after focusing on writing and other forms of activism, Ryan and some of the former water workers return to Roberto Arenas to check in with the community that they had grown so close to. Through a series of unexpected run-ins with military personnel and a neighboring Zapatista community, they learn that the village of Roberto Arenas had officially shifted allegiance to the counterrevolutionary group known as the Organization for the Defense of Indigenous and Campesino Rights (OPDDIC is the Spanish acronym), which exists in part to defend the privatization of the lands the EZLN recuperated. OPDDIC's members receive support from the Mexican government in the form of land, community infrastructure, and weapons that are used to mount attacks on Zapatista base communities. It's a survival tactic exemplary of other villages tempted by the large community infrastructure investments offered by the government in order to sway campesinos away from the Zapatista’s revolutionary goals. The water workers learn that a Roberto Arenas community leader they had bonded with remained “committed as ever” to Zapatismo, but saw it as a material necessity to “sell out” and benefit from the infrastructure offered by the government. Ryan notes that while the government is able to offer the communities state of the art structural improvements, the infrastructure often develops issues that cannot be resolved with community resources, and that government technicians are often unresponsive to pleas for assistance. 

Ryan and the other workers are conflicted and depressed about this development. Had they effectively “aided the enemy” by practicing solidarity with the people of Roberto Arenas? Will the people of Roberto Arenas be better off? What does this development portend for the future of Zapatismo, or of revolutionary aspirations in general, in these communities? 

Ryan evocatively compares the work of creating a more just world to Albert Camus’ characterization of the Greek myth of Sisyphus: a Greek king condemned to push a boulder up a hill, only to see it roll down the other side, for all of eternity. This literally unending and meaningless task is likened, by Camus, to the equally unending task of creating meaning and light in an absurd world. Working to develop a radically free, satisfying, and healthy world: in the words of Camus, "The struggle itself...is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy."

Ryan, the water workers, the community members of Roberto Arenas, and the Zapatistas -- they are all actors, compelled by divergent experiences, to engage in this Sisyphean project. 

The One That Got Away

I came across this very special review of Clandestines recently, in that fabulous glossy mag Rolling Thunder. It is written by US political prisoner Harold H. Thompson, and it humbles me to think that this must have been one of the last books he read before he died, incarcerated, October 11, 2008, aged 66, in West Tennessee State Penitentiary.

 Harold was an anarchist prisoner serving life-plus sentences in Tennessee after a series of farcical trials. He was well known for his work as a “jailhouse lawyer”, and in his own words, coped with prison by fighting for his fellow prisoners in the courts.

 The series of events that led to Harold's incarceration in 1979 sound like a Woody Guthrie folk song. A woman was murdered. The killer went to jail. In jail he became king rat and squealed on his fellow inmates. A woman was murdered and her killer gets out of jail scot free because he did the states' dirty work. They value more his work as an informer than their own system of justice. Harold H Thompson, Vietnam vet, anarchist activist, found this intolerable. The murdered woman was the mother of his child. One night in 1979, peoples' justice was served upon the woman murderer and rat called Crawley. He was shot as he enjoyed a (last) drink in a bar. Harold went down for the deed, and proved one feisty rebel behind bars. A valiant jail-break attempt led to years of solitary confinement, after which he picked up a law degree and worked solidly for his fellow prisoners release, even if he, serving a life sentence, would never get out again.
 I raise my glass to Harold, and return the sentiment - well done, my heroic comrade, I miss you already.



The review:

 Ramor Ryan’s Clandestines—a modern adventure chronicle of those who have fought, or are fighting now, against injustice and oppression—is inspirational with examples of compassion and solidarity.

From Europe to the Middle East and across the seas to Latin America, the Irish anarchist tells stories of his travels: the people he riots with, drinks with, makes love with, everyone. I consider Clandestines a must-read, no matter what one’s political identity may be; as while one relates to the books’ characters the realization is born that a revolutionary exists in us all.

Being of Irish heritage, I especially was drawn into the chapter titled “The Making of a Rebel,” regarding the tragic Graveyard Massacre in Belfast in 1988 at the funeral of three IRA Volunteers murdered in Gibraltar by British Special Air Service (SAS) soldiers, when the Volunteers were gunned down in cold blood. Ryan’s account of the cowardly attack on the grieving families of the three IRA soldiers and other mourners by a member of the Ulster Defense Association (UDA) with gun and grenades ranks among the best accounts of this Bloody Sunday tragedy I have ever read. Through Ryan’s description of the attack on those attending the funerals of the deceased Volunteers and the aftermath, the reader feels like they were actually there, experiencing outrage, fear, and determination.

Ryan’s Clandestines is one of those rare books a reader hates to put down before finishing, which is the highest compliment paid to any author. As you read each chapter, you find yourself drawn into the events Ryan is writing about, and caring about the characters he introduces to the reader, real people living through extraordinary circumstances; one wonders about their welfare after finishing this book, wishing them well. The only thing I did not like about this amazing journey through events of the past several decades is that each chapter, after drawing the reader into it, ends leaving one yearning for more, exhibiting Ramor Ryan’s skill as a writer. Summing up my thoughts regarding Clandestines would be the words, “Well done, lad!” I would hope my free anarchist brothers and sisters will share any futureworks by Ramor Ryan.

 Harold H. Thompson

Truthout Review

Great review of Zapatista Spring on truth-out.org . Really exciting to see a review on a kind of big web-site, not one I would have expected to pick up the book. Thanks to writer Nick Rahaim, and delighted that he really 'got' the book and what I was trying to achieve...


One Sees a Tree, the Other, a Canoe: The Humor and Struggle of International Solidarity

By Nick Rahaim, Truthout | Book Review


http://truth-out.org/opinion/item/8592-one-sees-a-tree-the-other-a-canoe-the-humor-and-struggle-of-international-solidarity


 The Zapatistas have lingered in the imaginations of progressives and radicals around the world since the coming out of their rebellion in 1994. People from nearly all leftist persuasions have taken the struggle of the impoverished indigenous communities at the end of Mexico to be one of their own. This, to a degree, has been welcomed by Subcomandante Marcos' prosaic communiqués and has been a key component of building significant international solidarity. Yet, perhaps to an even larger degree, much of what is understood of the Zapatista struggle is largely a product of these same outsiders' imaginations.
Irish writer and activist Ramor Ryan, author of "Clandestines: The Pirate Journals of an Irish Exile," uses a seemingly benign and common water project to delve into the complexities of Zapatismo and of its associated solidarity activism in his book, "Zapatista Spring" published a year ago this month by AK Press. Over the past 15 years, dozens of water systems have been constructed in Zapatista communities with technical help from solidarity activists. The projects have not only had the pragmatic goal of bringing potable tap water to villages which before lacked that basic convenience, but also the heady goal of building solidarity between the Zapatista base and foreigners.
The cast of characters Ryan presents fit the archetypal activist spectrum, from a socially inept yet passionate anarcho-dogmatist and a less ideologically driven, type-A career organizer, to a radical punk sex worker and an academic Chicana in search of her roots in the Lacandon Jungle, among others. The group is far from harmonious and the internal problems of the outsider activists themselves drive the narrative for a good portion of the short work. For an anarchist and self-proclaimed revolutionary, Ryan's humor, empathy and nondogmatic take on politics and personal folly is refreshing. Throughout his narrative, he invites the reader to laugh at him, laugh with him and, most importantly, encourages fellow activists to laugh at themselves.
The story is set in the remote Zapatista community of Roberto Arenas. Ryan and his colleagues are the first outsiders to visit the land recuperated in the 1994 uprising. Ryan highlights the stark realities common in many of the Zapatista base communities: the extreme impoverishment, social conservatism and fervent religiosity combined with a bent toward liberation theology and patriarchal power structure. This is in contrast to the outsiders' imaginations, in contrast to the romanticized image of impoverished yet politically enlightened Mayans with worldly political critiques on autonomy, nonhierarchical decisionmaking and the intricacies of neoliberal oppression.
Ryan's point is not a condemnation of either the Zapatista communities or of the romanticizations of some of those around the world who stand in solidarity with the Zapatista struggle; rather, it is a criticism to massage out the knots to create greater understanding. In the prelude, Ryan describes how, walking through the jungle highlands with a Zapatista compañero, they stumble across an ancient ceiba tree, one of a few remaining after heavy logging and deforestation. He sees a magnificent sight that should be preserved. Upon remarking at the beauty of the tree, his compañero, agrees and says, "It would make a fine canoe." While aware of the constant need for decolonizing one's self and respect for usos y costumbres, Ryan asks the question, can solidarity in shared struggle truly bridge the divide between the perspective of a peasant who lives on less than a dollar a day to that of someone from a overdeveloped cosmopolitan background?
Through the planning and the construction of the gravity-fed water system, whose source lies two kilometers into the hills above the community, the activists attempted to make the process as participatory as possible, engaging the men and women of the community at every step of the way, not only for ideological reasons but also so the community members would know how to maintain the system themselves. To the dismay of the activists, it was nearly always the men of Roberto Arenas who engaged in the process. When activists invited the women, the answer was almost always that they were busy in the kitchen. While the organization of the Zapatistas is ideally bottom-up, the communities are being nudged, from the top down, away from traditional patriarchal structures and ingrained social conservatism.
The reality is, after nearly 18 years of open rebellion, the material condition of many of the Zapatistas' base communities hasn't changed all that much. The Mexican government has also pumped money into neighboring, non-Zapatista communities, providing running water, electricity, bridges and construction materials.
Zapatista communities are not allowed to accept money or aid from government agencies. At the same time, the upper echelons of the Zapatistas require food and material assistance for the Zapatista National Liberation Army (EZLN) and demand that community members cover their travel expenses on top of necessary time commitments associated with autonomous self-government. After years of rebellion, the revolutionary sacrifice has become overly burdensome for many communities at the base of the movement. A few have looked outside, toward the Mexican government, which is more than willing to provide incentives to lure communities away from the Zapatistas. While Ryan never says it directly, it seems a war of attrition is at hand.
The water project at Roberto Arenas, through blisters, bruises and a few hurt egos, was an initial success. Plus, no story of revolutionary solidarity is complete without references to some sexy times had between the activists.
A few years after Ryan and two enamored fellow activists returned to Roberto Arenas - spoiler alert - they were confronted with unwelcoming carbines at the doorstep of the community. Ryan would learn that the community he worked so hard in betrayed the Zapatistas and took government incentives the Zapatistas could not compete with.
Hurt and dismayed, Ryan wonders if other work building bridges of solidarity was all for naught. He thinks of the people he bonded with, proud Zapatistas, who then ruptured their ties. Throughout the narrative, Ryan references Albert Camus' "The Myth of Sisyphus." For Camus, Sisyphus is a hero of the absurd who delights in his task of pushing a boulder up a hill with full knowledge that it will never be completed. Ryan uses Sisyphus as an apt metaphor for the work of rebels - both Zapatistas and their solidarity activists. At times, Ryan's realism borders on cynicism when he discusses the Zapatistas and the illusions of many activists. Yet, he ends with a rallying call, to change history and do what Sisyphus never could and finally push the boulder over the hill.

Clandestine “Summer Reading”

I was confronted with this curious social construction while reuniting with family in southern Maine a month into my travels. When it comes to summertime literature preferences, I am hands-down the black sheep of my extended family. Amongst mystery novels and other benign selections from the seasonal beachside library, my book of choice this year risked threatening the familial harmony of our collective week of escape from the daily grind.
With one chapter to go, I brought along Su Negrin’s obscure manifesto Begin at Start: Some Thoughts on Personal Liberation and World Change (Times Change Press) with me the first day we were at the beach. Written in 1972, Negrin explores her experiences in the feminist and gay liberation movements of the period along with her radical views on child rearing, schooling and post-scarcity survival. Although some of the language is dated, I found much of her analysis to be extremely relevant and even timeless. Her nuanced understanding of oppression and uncompromising desire for authentic freedom really inspired me. In the book, Negrin (somewhat) famously proclaimed: "No political umbrella can meet all of my needs." As I was finishing the book, my mother looked at the titled and said, "Oh, I see that you have your usual light, summer reading." It was clearly time to start a new book, something more appropriate for the beach and carefree summer leisure.
Enter: Clandestines: The Pirate Journals of an Irish Exile (AK Press), by Ramor Ryan. This is not to suggest that Clandestines conforms in any way to the traditional notion of summer reading. I can almost picture the author cringing from the words "nice and light" uttered in his presence. It was just a slight step up from Begin at Start. And besides, the only other book I brought on vacation with me was American Methods: Torture and the Logic of Domination (South End Press), by Kristian Williams which probably would’ve ruined everyone’s week, including mine. So on the second full day in Maine I began reading Clandestines with a combined sense of satisfaction, prudence and growing anticipation. What could possibly provide more summertime literary fun than the political travel stories of a modern pirate? Sure enough, the book did not disappoint.
Ramor Ryan’s chronicles of nearly 20 years of involvement in global movements serves as a new grassroots history of contemporary social change struggles. His personal accounts from the front lines on both sides of the Atlantic are infused with an anti-authoritarian analysis that avoids dogmatism and simplicity. But above all, the book is a well-written and engaging narrative of adventure and resistance. As Eddie Yuen writes in his introduction, "[E]nough with extraneous interpretations. Ramor is, in the best Irish tradition, a storyteller."
The book is arranged in a clever, non-linear fashion. The stories are organized geographically rather than chronologically, featuring two sections: "Old World" (Europe) and "New World" (the Americas), with an "Intermezzine" (the Atlantic Ocean) connecting them. In the Old World Ryan takes us for wild and unpredictable ride beginning in West Berlin just months before the fall of the Soviet Union with a short vignette about two friends of his that climbed over the Berlin Wall into the East, unnoticed by officials on either side, only to get arrested by a cop for having sex on a park bench.
From there he describes his life in a Berlin squat against the backdrop of May Day riots provoked by a violent and repressive police force. The strong character development of his friends and comrades is supplemented with an excellent historical overview along with a confident understanding of the political situation of the time. This synthesis of storytelling, history and critical analysis is a common thread throughout Clandestines.
While in Berlin, Ryan learned about the brutal repression of the Kurds by the government of Turkey. This knowledge and outrage would eventually bring him to Kurdistan and Turkey, taking part in an international solidarity delegation to witness the human rights abuses of the Kurdish people. What ensues could be taken straight out of a James Bond movie, with government spies, translators, and the potential for violence lurking around every corner.
The Old World adventures continue, from a Rainbow Gathering in Croatia following the protests against the G8 meetings in Genoa, Italy to a funeral of an IRA rebel in Belfast that was attacked by British military, radicalizing the Irish youth. In all of these encounters with other militants and activists Ryan often expresses his ideological critiques of their strategies. As an anarchist he is always suspicious of the centralized and authoritarian tendencies of many revolutionary groups such as the IRA and the Kurdish Workers Party (PKK), along with the escapism or reformism of others such as the hippies at the Rainbow Gathering:
"This is the crux. The illusion of peace and love, of intentional communities, of utopian spaces created outside of society-it can only end in a Jim Jones-style massacre or dissolution. And it’s not enough, it’s never enough. Rainbow Gatherings are all right for your holidays, but one more push, idealists, if you want to be revolutionaries." (p. 97)
Although I found all of his criticisms of these groups and individuals to be valid he does occasionally fall into the holier-than-thou territory that tends to alienate people from anarchism and suggests that there is only one recipe for radical change. I was also curious about his uncritical employment of neo-primitivist John Zerzan’s philosophy. However, Ryan does, for the most part, avoid this sectarian anarchist trap and effectively balances his uncompromising values with a deep awareness of the everyday realities of life under global capitalism.
In the Intermezzo entitled, "High Sea Adventures: Ocean Crossings in Search of the Revolutionary Atlantic" Ryan shares his experience working on a cargo boat servicing the trans-Atlantic banana trade among authoritarian German captains and a predominantly Filipino crew who are thoroughly disinterested in his "fantastical notions of violent mutiny." While his days on the boat were mostly spent painting the deck and chipping away at rust and nightly shifts of being on watch, he was simultaneously chronicling the exploitation of the global banana trade. His dreams of revolutionary piracy were never realized though, despite learning a lot from the experience and gaining some hope toward the end when one of his Filipino mates replied to Ryan’s inquiry about why they don’t rebel against the captain: "I will tell you why we smile each time he orders us around. We smile because behind that bravado we know he is scared." (p. 139)
From this point, Ryan proceeds to describe the struggles of the New World. His first hand accounts of the realities and failures of the Sandinista revolution, the overall nightmare of post-war Central America and the complexities of Cuba are complimented with his more hopeful experiences in the Zapatista Autonomous Zone of Chiapas and the "Passion of the Brazilian Left." Again, all of these chapters combine engaging stories, a well-versed history and knowledge of contemporary politics. His invaluable perspectives and contributions to the new social movements of Latin America are one of Clandestines‘ greatest virtues as a political text. "He writes with an intimacy and close-to-bone-rawness that is reminiscent of Eduardo Galeano, and he never short-changes the lyric or his attention to craft," writes Holly Wren Spaulding, a Sweetwater Alliance activist, of Ramor Ryan. Every step of the way, he expresses his solidarity with marginalized populations seeking self-determination and true democracy from Kurdistan to Managua.
Overall, I found this book to be inspiring and if nothing else an entertaining read, regardless of what season you are experiencing it in. His personal narratives fill in the gaps of the professional analysts on the Left, revealing the authentic lives of people affected by the same unjust system all over the world. It also proves that people will always be fighting for change. As he writes in the epilogue, "Consequences:"
"These are the stories that need to be told too. How do we live, side-by-side, how do we treat each other? From where springs solidarity and mutual aid? Where is freedom and how best to overcome our despair? I’m not sure, but I think I know where to look for the answers." (p. 277)
Buy Clandestines from AK Press: http://akpress.org/2006/items/clandestines 
Matt Dineen is a writer and activist living in Northampton, MA. His Passions and Survival [link] project explores the collective dilemma of following our passions while surviving under capitalism. Contact him at passionsandsurvival@gmail.com