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...
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.
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
