When the Argentine economy collapsed in 2001, many were surprised by the factory takeovers and neighborhood assemblies that resulted. But workers’ control and direct democracy have long histories in Argentina, where from the late nineteenth century and well into the twentieth, anarchism was the main revolutionary ideology of the labor movement and other social struggles.

Most histories of anarchism in Argentina tend toward dry analyses of labor politics, lists of union acronyms, and the like. For Juan Suriano, that’s just one part of the story. Paradoxes of Utopia gives us an engaging look at fin de siècle Buenos Aires that brings to life the vibrant culture behind one of the world’s largest anarchist movements: the radical schools, newspapers, theaters, and social clubs that made revolution a way of life. Cultural history in the best sense, Paradoxes of Utopia explores how a revolutionary ideology was woven into the ordinary lives of tens of thousands of people, creating a complex tapestry of symbols, rituals, and daily practices that supported-and indeed created the possibility of-the Argentine labor movement.

Without partisanship or didacticism, Suriano creates an innovative panorama that gives equal weigh to the strengths and weakness of anarchism in Argentina, effective strategies and grave mistakes, internal debates and state repression, all contextualized within the country’s broader political, economic, and cultural history.

Traducción: Pablo Abufom S.

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Cuando Murray Bookchin murió el 30 de Julio del año pasado, desapareció una de las figuras más ambiciosas e inspiradoras de la izquierda anti-autoritaria.

Fue un autor, educador y activista, aunque sobre todo fue un revolucionario que entregó su vida a una única y colosal tarea: idear un proyecto revolucionario que pudiera sanar las heridas de la humanidad y la separación entre ella y el mundo natural. Intentó esbozar los principios teóricos de esta tentativa; construir organizaciones capaces de transformar el mundo basándose en esos principios; y forjar un cuadro con la sabiduría necesaria para combatir por ellos y resistir los inevitables altibajos de la vida política. Tenía mucho en común con otros constructores de sectas de la izquierda socialista – como Max Shachtman, Josef Weber y Raya Dunayevskaya, por ejemplo – quienes, en sus respectivas épocas y latitudes, también intentaron rescatar la empresa revolucionaria del desastre que fue el Comunismo ruso y de las muchas calamidades del siglo XX. (1)

¿Tuvo éxito en esto?

No, no lo tuvo. No creó una nueva doctrina revolucionaria adecuada a sus fines o una, por ejemplo, que tuviera la fuerza transformadora del Marxismo. Su obra simplemente carece de la coherencia y la sutileza necesarias para alcanzar ese punto. Sus ideas tampoco han capturado la imaginación de un gran número de personas, no son parte del debate de la izquierda; nunca han tenido una influencia en la academia seria; y quienes aún abrazan de corazón sus visiones son, en efecto, un número reducido. Su legado teórico permanece en los márgenes de la vida intelectual.

Su intento de construir el marco organizacional para un movimiento revolucionario renovado encontró un destino similar: no sobrevive ninguno de los periódicos u organizaciones que inició o co-inició. El Institute for Social Ecology [Instituto de Ecología Social], que co-creó en 1974 para difundir sus perspectivas, se derrumbó en 2005 tras años de crisis fiscal y una decreciente matrícula. La Left Green Network [Red Verde de Izquierda], que co-fundó en 1989 para promover sus convicciones anti-estatistas, anti-capitalistas entre los Verdes, se disipó en 1991. El grupo Anarchos, que guió en la década de los sesenta, se disolvió hace más de una generación. Del mismo modo, ninguna de las revistas o boletines que fundó, co-fundó o inspiró existen hoy (Anarchos, Comment [Comentario], Perspectivas Verdes [Green Perspectives], Left Green Perspectives [Perspectivas Verdes de Izquierda], Left Green Notes [Notas Verdes de Izquierda] y Harbinger [Heraldo], entre otras).

Su iniciativa de crear un cuadro capaz de instituir sus perspectivas tuvo los mismos resultados. Desde la década de los sesenta, si no antes, Bookchin se rodeó de pequeños grupos de discípulos y protegidos, cuyas habilidades intelectuales y políticas quiso cultivar. Cada uno de estos grupos se desintegró en uno u otro momento y salvo un puñado, todos sus miembros se distanciaron de él políticamente. En el momento de su muerte, tenía escasos seguidores.

¿Capta esta dura evaluación – en la que juzgo a Bookchin según los estándares que él estipuló para sí mismo – la amplitud de sus logros como agente para el cambio social? No. Aunque nunca se convirtió en el Prometeo revolucionario que aspiraba a ser, dejó un patrimonio significativo – aunque más modesto y complicado. Esto es indudablemente cierto para quienes participaron en su intento de construir una secta revolucionaria. (2) Por ejemplo, yo pasé varios años colaborando con Bookchin y es una experiencia que todavía me inspira y me desafía. Fue emocionante, decepcionante y – sobre todo – expandió dramáticamente mi idea de lo que significa ser radical.

Conocí a Murray en el programa de “Ecología y Sociedad” del Instituto de Ecología Social el verano de 1989, cuando asistí a sus clases. Esto me impulsó a mudarme a su hogar adoptivo de Burlington, en Vermont, seis meses después para trabajar con él más de cerca. En ese momento, Murray trabajaba enérgicamente en la construcción de su núcleo revolucionario y alentaba a jóvenes de todo el país a que se le unieran. Apenas dos docenas de personas estaban involucrados en el proyecto cuando yo llegué. La mayoría tenía poco más de veinte años y, en general, eran altamente idealistas, devotos y serios. Gran parte había dado un giro hacia Bookchin después de haber tenido experiencias frustrantes con otras tendencias de la izquierda.

Me volví su aprendiz deliberadamente y pronto me convertí en uno de sus principales discípulos. Fui su ayudante en el Instituto de Ecología Social en el verano de 1990, miembro del colectivo editorial de su Left Green Perspectives por un año, y trabajé como “Coordinador” de la Left Green Network con la compañera de Bookchin, Janet Biehl, entre 1990 y 1991. También formé parte de los Burlington Greens, el grupo activista que lideraba cuando llegué a la ciudad, y participé en las clases sobre historia y filosofía que daba en su casa en esa época. Además, pasé incontables horas en discusiones privadas o semi-privadas con él. Me guió, me educó y me alentó, y yo intenté apoyarlo y compadecerme de él lo mejor que pude. Nuestra relación menguó cuando dejé Vermont en 1992, aunque mantuvimos un contacto amistoso hasta su muerte.

En este ensayo exploraré mi experiencia en el círculo cercano de Bookchin. Mi objetivo es ilustrar algunas de las fortalezas y debilidades de su singular aproximación a la cuestión orgánica revolucionaria, así como mostrar cómo pudo inspirar un proyecto que – aunque puede haber parecido sectario y exagerado a quienes no formaban parte de él – fue tremendamente inspirador para un pequeño grupo de jóvenes bien intencionados, comprometidos e inteligentes que buscaban una alternativa.

* * *

El proyecto de Bookchin se basaba en una narrativa general de la evolución natural y del rol de la humanidad en ella. Desde su punto de vista, la vida tiene la tendencia de darse a sí misma formas cada vez más diferenciadas y auto-dirigidas, algo que se evidencia, por ejemplo, en el surgimiento de vida orgánica desde la materia simple. La emergencia de la humanidad es una transformación cualitativa en la historia de la vida, dado que sólo nosotros tenemos la capacidad para razonar y, por tanto, la habilidad de fomentar auto-conscientemente las tendencias evolutivas que hicieron posible nuestra existencia. En sus palabras, somos potencialmente “la naturaleza vuelta auto-conciente”. (3)

Para honrar nuestra herencia evolutiva, debemos crear una sociedad cuyo metabolismo con el mundo natural sea ecológicamente coherente y cuyas relaciones internas sean democráticas y descentralizadas. Sólo estas formas sociales poseen la plenitud y la libertad que la vida requiere.

Según Bookchin, nos aproximamos a esto al comienzo de nuestra historia cuando vivíamos en lo que él llamó “sociedades orgánicas”. En ese entonces, los humanos tenían prácticas culturales relativamente igualitarias y una relación favorable, aunque desinformada, con la naturaleza. “Reconozcamos con franqueza”, escribió Bookchin, “que las sociedades orgánicas cultivaron espontáneamente ciertos valores que nosotros difícilmente podremos mejorar”. (4)

Sin embargo, en lugar de construir sobre la base de este logro temprano, tomamos un trágico desvío de nuestro itinerario evolutivo. “[E]n la zona intermedia entre la primera naturaleza [no-humana] y la segunda [humana]… la evolución social comenzó a asumir una forma sumamente aberrante. El esfuerzo de sociedades orgánicas como las bandas y las tribus por elaborar formas sociales no-jerárquicas e igualitarias fue interrumpido… la evolución social fue despojada de la realización y el cumplimiento de una sociedad cooperativa en una dirección que produjo instituciones jerárquicas, estatistas y de clase”. (5) En lugar de convertirse en “la naturaleza vuelta auto-conciente” y elevar “la evolución a un nivel de auto-reflexividad que siempre había estado latente en la emergencia misma del mundo natural”, (6) los humanos crearon una sociedad irracional que socava sus propios logros culturales, impone miserias innecesarias a vastas franjas de la población, y amenaza la supervivencia misma del ecosistema. Las relaciones – dentro de la sociedad y entre sociedad y naturaleza – que deberían haber sido complementarias, se volvieron y siguen siendo antagónicas. Como resultado, el mundo está en crisis, (7) que es, “sobre todo, una crisis en la emergencia de la sociedad desde la biología, [y] las contradicciones (que surgen de la jerarquía, la dominación, el patriarcado, las clases y el Estado) que se desplegaron con este desarrollo”. (8)

En efecto, seguiremos siendo básicamente inhumanos hasta que superemos este obstáculo. “En un sentido muy real, entonces, todavía estamos inacabados en cuanto seres humanos”, afirma Bookchin, “porque no hemos realizado todavía nuestro potencial para la cooperación, el entendimiento y el comportamiento racional”. (9) “Los seres humanos son demasiado inteligentes como para no vivir en una sociedad racional, como para no vivir con instituciones conformadas por la razón… Mientras no lo hagan, seguirán siendo criaturas peligrosamente inmaduras y a la deriva”. (10)

Para quienes son fieles a la misión evolutiva de la vida, la tarea es, entonces, fomentar una gran transformación en los asuntos humanos. “Después de unos diez milenios de una evolución social bastante ambigua, debemos reingresar a la evolución natural” para llevar a cabo “tanto una humanización de la naturaleza como una naturalización de la humanidad” (11) en la que “una humanidad emancipada se volverá la voz, en efecto la expresión, de una evolución natural vuelta auto-consciente, preocupada y empática con el dolor, el sufrimiento y los aspectos incoherentes de una evolución dejada a su propio despliegue a menudo sin dirección. La naturaleza, debido a la intervención racional humana, adquirirá por consiguiente la intencionalidad, el poder de desarrollar formas de vida más complejas, y la capacidad para diferenciarse a sí misma”. (12) La humanidad será útil y completará su propia herencia creando una sociedad ambientalmente coherente, construyendo instituciones directamente democráticas que nos permitan participar plenamente en la determinación de la dirección de la vida social, y reemplazando el capitalismo por una economía cooperativa estructurada en torno a imperativos morales – y no mercantiles.

Imperativos
Esta perspectiva macro-histórica fue la que absorbimos de los libros de Bookchin, y la que aceptamos como fundamento para nuestras actividades cuando nos trasladamos a Burlington para colaborar con él. Su punto de vista era estimulante, porque ponía nuestro activismo en un plano epocal, pero también implicaba responsabilidades significativas, si es que íbamos a convertirnos en actores políticos capaces de lograr la transformación histórica mundial que él visualizaba. Haré un bosquejo de tres de los principios cardinales para formar parte del círculo de Bookchin: educación, primacía de la moralidad y audacia.

En primer lugar, teníamos que educarnos a nosotros mismos. (13) Murray nos instaba a que desarrolláramos una familiaridad básica con la historia de los movimientos revolucionarios y la tradición crítica de las ideas. Se esperaba que estudiáramos sus voluminosos escritos, a grandes pensadores como Marx y Hegel, y a autores menos conocidos que él consideraba importantes (Hans Jonas, Lewis Mumford, y otros). Comprender su trabajo y el de los teóricos asociados requería un esfuerzo intelectual mayor del que había conocido hasta ese momento – su mismo vocabulario era un desafío – pero mis pares y yo asumimos la tarea y nos esforzábamos mucho porque creíamos que algo muy importante estaba en juego. Él hacía todo lo posible para alentarnos y comúnmente daba largas respuestas a las preguntas acerca de nuestras lecturas que le presentábamos en los intermedios en encuentros o en intercambios privados. De hecho, le era difícil no entregarse a extensas disquisiciones sobre los textos en cuestión, tanto así que se convirtió en una especie de juego entre nosotros ver quién hacía la pregunta que suscitaría el monólogo más largo.

Murray nos aconsejó no sólo para que explorásemos los pensadores y eventos claves en la historia revolucionaria, sino también para que nos familiarizáramos con los principales momentos de la tradición occidental, desde la antigua Grecia hasta el presente. Creía que podíamos y debíamos asimilar los mejores aspectos de este legado en nuestro movimiento. La extraordinaria amplitud de referencias históricas y teóricas, tanto en su obra como en sus clases, parecían mostrar que esto era posible. En efecto, poco tiempo después de mi llegada, había comenzado a dar dos clases bi-semanales en el salón de su casa: una, la “Política de la Cosmología”, examinaba la historia de la filosofía desde los pre-socráticos hasta los eruditos contemporáneos; la otra, “La Tercera Revolución”, revisaba el destino de los movimientos revolucionarios desde la Edad Media hasta la Guerra Civil Española (y constituía la base para el cuarto volumen de su libro con el mismo título). Ninguna idea era demasiado abstracta, ningún evento era demasiado remoto como para quedar fuera de nuestro proyecto transformativo.

Bookchin también nos instaba a que hiciéramos del estudio una prioridad política. A menudo nos recordaba el compromiso con la formación que tenían los trabajadores revolucionarios antes de la Segunda Guerra Mundial. Recuerdo una anécdota que una vez compartió conmigo sobre una clase acerca del Capital de Marx a la que asistió cuando era miembro de un grupo juvenil comunista: los estudiantes y el profesor jugaron un juego en el que los jóvenes citaban un pasaje al azar del clásico libro de Marx y el desafío del instructor era recordar su ubicación exacta en el texto. No había oportunidad en la que no tuviera éxito, para el regocijo y el asombro de la juventud. Este relato y otros similares nos ayudaban a imaginar cómo podría ser una rigurosa cultura del estudio, más allá de la academia, y a creer que nosotros también éramos capaces de crearla. Efectivamente, bajo su influencia, yo y otros estudiamos por nuestra cuenta, asistimos a sus clases, y formamos una extensa red de grupos de estudio. Por un tiempo, fue posible participar en grupos de estudio semanales sobre Hegel, Marx, la Revolución Francesa, las ciudades, así como otros temas y teóricos de peso; había tantos grupos de estudio, y eran de tan alta calidad, que la gente solía decir que habíamos iniciado una universidad subterránea.

Por supuesto, las reflexiones críticas que desarrollábamos mediante el estudio se extinguirían si permanecían encerradas en los confines de una biblioteca o en un círculo de discusión. Como decía Marx, el objetivo era cambiar el mundo, no sólo interpretarlo.

Para Bookchin, la política era fundamentalmente una actividad ética. Aunque se comprende popularmente como un ritual de competencia por el poder entre las elites y los socialistas clásicos la definen como una expresión epifenomenal de contradicciones de clase subyacentes, Bookchin concibió la política como el marco a través del cual los humanos median sus relaciones unos con otros y, como tal, es esencialmente ética y está vinculada con el estado sólo incidentalmente. Estas nociones reflejaban su perspectiva ecológica (que era inherentemente relacional), pero también la influencia de pensadores pre-modernos como Aristóteles, así como el moralismo de la Nueva Izquierda. (14)

Poner nuestra actividad en un marco altamente ético hizo que adquiriéramos un compromiso inusualmente fuerte con la sinceridad, la responsabilidad y con una forma abierta y honesta de discutir las ideas entre nosotros. También alentó un profundo anhelo por sacrificarnos por la causa, que es una de las razones por las que nuestro pequeño grupo fue tan productivo. La mayor parte de nuestro trabajo tuvo lugar a través de los Verdes, que Murray consideraba en ese momento como el movimiento más abierto a acoger su visión social y ecológica. Todos participábamos activamente en los Burlington Greens, a través de los cuales intentábamos llevar una perspectiva ambiental y radicalmente democrática a la política local. Como miembros de este grupo, publicábamos boletines, patrocinábamos foros públicos y presentábamos candidatos para las elecciones municipales. (15) También participábamos en la Left Green Network, que era una organización norteamericana dedicada a promover una perspectiva anti-estatista y anti-capitalista en el movimiento ambientalista, así como una perspectiva ecológica en la izquierda revolucionaria amplia. En nombre de esta organización, coordinábamos conferencias regionales y nacionales, presentábamos documentos de posición, y publicábamos una revista (Left Green Notes). Por último, estábamos involucrados en la construcción de una tendencia internacional verde de izquierda. Esto tenía lugar a través de la publicación de Murray (Left Green Perspectives) y también mediante el desarrollo de relaciones amistosas con militantes de la izquierda verde alrededor del mundo (éramos particularmente cercanos con Jutta Ditfurth, líder de la facción izquierdista – es decir, “fundi” – de los Verdes de Alemania).

Esta perspectiva ética infundió en nosotros una gran confianza e hizo que nuestra denuncia del capitalismo y el estado fuera especialmente resoluta. A diferencia de los marxistas, no creíamos que el capitalismo fuese un paso necesario en la larga marcha hacia la libertad humana, sino una farsa que debía ser condenada por insertar en el nexo mercantil todo lo que encuentra a su paso. Igualmente, nuestra posición sobre el estado era categórica: no era un instrumento que podía aprovecharse para fines liberadores, sino una institución que sólo existe en la medida en que no hay una democracia genuina.

Las perspectivas morales de Bookchin también nos proporcionaron una manera de responder a la histórica incapacidad de la izquierda para crear una sociedad justa, igualitaria. Aunque podríamos pensar la tradición revolucionaria como un legado de fracaso total, esto no era – creíamos nosotros – consecuencia de una deficiencia inherente al proyecto, sino una falta de probidad moral por parte de sus protagonistas principales. Los comunistas no tenían la suficiente fe en la creatividad humana como para prevenir que su movimiento se convirtiera en una brutal máquina burocrática; los anarquistas clásicos carecían del coraje para prescindir de su ingenua entrega a la espontaneidad popular; y los militantes de la Nueva Izquierda habían sido demasiado débiles como para resistir las muchas tentaciones que encontraron en su “larga marcha por las instituciones”. La causa revolucionaria perduraba – sentíamos – para esos pocos audaces que estaban dispuestos a aceptarla en su plenitud.

El tercer principio de la militancia que Murray intentó transmitirnos fue la necesidad de audacia. Nos convenció de que pequeños grupos de personas pueden cambiar el mundo si están dispuestos a correr riesgos y nadar contra la corriente de la historia. Su propia biografía estaba llena de ejemplos de cuán fructífero podía ser esto. Innovó teóricamente, alcanzó cierto renombre como autor, y se las arregló para financiarse mediante sus iniciativas intelectuales; todo porque había tenido la temeridad para resistir la convención. Recuerdo un pequeño afiche enmarcado que colgaba en la pared cercana a su cama. Había cuatro o cinco párrafos de texto bajo grandes letras negras que demandaban “¡Armas para Hungría!”. Había escrito estas palabras en 1956 en apoyo de los rebeldes que se habían levantado contra el régimen comunista en dicho país. (16) Consideré este afiche como un recordatorio – y como su intento de recordarse a sí mismo – de las virtudes de una vida en permanente desafío de las ortodoxias predominantes (de izquierda o no).

Murray nos incitaba a que nos convirtiéramos en intelectuales revolucionarios o, para usar su palabra preferida, la “intelligentsia”. Desdeñaba a los pensadores académicos asalariados así como a los burócratas de partido. Despreciaba la forma en que los partidos políticos cultivaban el servilismo y el dogmatismo en sus filas (por un tiempo, vio al Partido Comunista como uno de los peores culpables, y creía que éste había creado una “mentalidad policial” entre sus miembros). (17) Despreciaba igualmente el inocuo radicalismo de los disidentes académicos, que “tienen su arena pública en la sala de clases y que operan según un programa de estudios”. (18) Admiraba a figuras como Denis Diderot, y a los “hombres y mujeres que crearon el fermento intelectual que dio lugar a los panfletos y la literatura que al final fue tan importante para promover la gran Revolución Francesa de 1789 a 1795”; (19) a los pensadores opositores de la Rusia pre-revolucionaria que luego fueron víctimas de Stalin; o a John Dewey y Charles Beard en los Estados Unidos. Sin embargo, para Bookchin, el “icono” de este arquetipo social era León Trotsky, “una personalidad totalmente movilizada que se atrevió a desafiar a todo un imperio hasta que un hacha fue enterrada en su cráneo” por uno de los asesinos de Stalin. (20) De hecho, la propia vida de Murray parecía encarnar este compromiso dedicado y militante: todo su trabajo escrito y oratoria estaban hechos para los movimientos sociales, y no para la universidad. (21) “Hoy”, declaraba en una asamblea de la Juventud Verde, “nos enfrentamos con la tarea de desarrollar una intelligentsia, no un nuevo cuerpo de intelectuales”. (22)

Bookchin elogiaba la capacidad de una vanguardia revolucionaria para tomar la iniciativa y transformar las cuestiones sociales, particularmente hacia el final de su vida, cuando Lenin se convirtió en uno de sus ejemplos favoritos y una constante fuente de discusión. Recuerdo vivamente la ocasión en que me narró la toma bolchevique del poder en 1917, sentado en una silla plástica en el salón de su casa una tarde de invierno. Describió al Primer Ministro Ruso Alexander Kerensky como un hombre disoluto, indeciso, que se paseaba impotente por su oficina mientras el mundo a su alrededor quedaba patas arriba, retorciendo extrañamente su mano detrás de su espalda mientras caminaba en círculos por la habitación. Lenin, que estaba lleno de determinación (por supuesto) y sin el problema de los extraños tics físicos (por supuesto), “agarró las manecillas del tiempo”, dijo Murray, “e impulsó la historia hacia adelante” en el momento en que tomó el poder.

Bookchin nos obsequiaba a menudo historias como estas, que parecían transportarnos de Bulington, Vermont – un insípido pueblo universitario como ninguno – directamente a los campos de batalla revolucionarios de antaño. Ellas nos inspiraban y nos hacían creer que nosotros también podíamos volvernos eso que alguna vez llamó una “vanguardia educacional”, que “al menos mantendría bajo control las terribles patologías de nuestra época, y en el mejor de los casos las aboliría”. (23)

Este voluntarismo era coherente con su perspectiva más amplia de desarrollo histórico. Para Bookchin, son nuestras ideas y valores – no la base económica de la sociedad – lo que determina el curso de los eventos (en “última instancia”). Integraba este principio en todos sus escritos históricos, ya sea que estuviera examinando los movimientos revolucionarios o bien asuntos más generales de la historia de la civilización. Por ejemplo, considérese el siguiente planteamiento acerca del surgimiento del capitalismo en The Third Revolution [La Tercera Revolución]: “Si los factores culturales fueran meros reflejos de factores económicos, el capitalismo hubiese emergido casi en cualquier momento del pasado, incluso en la antigüedad. Cantidades notables de capitalistas vivieron en la Grecia y la Roma antiguas, lo mismo que en partes de la Europa medieval, y no eran menos codiciosos o emprendedores en su búsqueda de riqueza que nuestra propia burguesía. Lo que les impidió tomar una posición predominante en la vida social – asumiendo que intentaran hacerlo – fue precisamente una serie de factores culturales que favorecían la propiedad colectiva de la tierra por sobre el capital, denigraban la acumulación material y enfatizaban fuertemente el estatus social en la forma de títulos nobiliarios más que en la propiedad de bienes fungibles”. (24) Para invertir una de las frases más incisivas de Marx, no es el ser el que determina a la conciencia, sino que la conciencia determina al ser.

La concepción de activismo revolucionario que tenía Bookchin era embriagadora. Creíamos que, si lo seguíamos, íbamos a convertirnos en los legítimos herederos de una tradición revolucionaria en particular y de la tradición occidental en general, y que seríamos capaces de rectificar el error cometido cuando la humanidad tomó esta senda “aberrante” hace tantos milenios. La historia, pensábamos, estaba en una encrucijada y nosotros, intrépidos y sabios militantes, pronto determinaríamos su dirección. Se aproximaban a toda velocidad los días en los que resolveríamos “la suerte de la historia” luego de librar un “combate mimético sobre las llanuras del destino”, para citar la apropiada descripción que hace Daniel Bell del sectarismo en el socialismo marxista en los Estados Unidos. (25)

Dilemas
Por supuesto, había problemas significativos en el intento de Bookchin de construir un cuadro. Estos problemas dejaron una fuerte impresión en mí e ilustraron algunas de las limitaciones de su ideal revolucionario. Haré un esbozo de las dificultades más notables. Ellas eran el encierro, la actitud defensiva y una desatención de las condiciones materiales para el cambio social.

Pero, para contextualizar, la posición elevada de Bookchin en nuestro medio no era resultado de su vanidad o narcicismo, sino de dos suposiciones básicas que él y todos sus seguidores compartían. Primero, creíamos que él había descubierto principios del desarrollo social que, si se aplicaban al mundo, eliminarían la jerarquía y reconciliarían a la humanidad con la naturaleza. Segundo, sosteníamos que el capitalismo destruiría el ecosistema si no aplicábamos sus principios. En otras palabras, sentíamos que no sólo debíamos aceptar sus enseñanzas para construir una buena sociedad, sino que además era necesario hacerlo si queríamos prevenir un apocalipsis ecológico. En consecuencia, las ideas de Bookchin tuvieron un papel cuasi-religioso para nosotros y él se convirtió en una especie de profeta.

Como se podría esperar, su centralidad tendía a aislarnos, cerrándonos a las reflexiones que otras tradiciones y pensadores podían ofrecer: ya que Bookchin presentaba la verdad, otros teóricos presentaban, por definición, falsedades. Había una tensión entre este encierro y la insistencia de Bookchin en que nos educáramos. En efecto, esta tensión se volvió cada vez más aguda a medida que nos enfrentábamos a los importantes textos que nos recomendaba y ansiaba confrontarse a los autores contemporáneos. Recuerdo que a menudo nos disuadía de explorar escritores que – era su temor – podrían amenazar su control sobre nosotros. Hacía esto con regularidad ridiculizándolos o denigrándolos personalmente (recuerdo que esto era particularmente cierto en sus comentarios sobre Foucault y Adorno). En otras ocasiones, simplemente preguntaba exasperado, “¿qué podrían tener de interesante sus obras?”.

Este hermetismo también nos alentaba a desarrollar un vocabulario y estilo político tan único que era difícil comunicarse y aprender de otros activistas. Por ejemplo, aun en la cima de la influencia de Bookchin, pocos habrían comprendido lo que decíamos si nos pronunciábamos únicamente en sus frases típicas (considérese: “una ‘intelligentsia’ debería estudiar las ‘sociedades orgánicas’ si pretende ‘volver auto-consciente la naturaleza’”). (26)

Igualmente, la elevada categoría de Bookchin alimentaba entre nosotros una política altamente no-democrática que ponía en riesgo nuestra capacidad de provocar reflexiones al interior de nuestros propios círculos. El servilismo era bastante común. Por ejemplo, el grupo Verde local que estaba en actividad cuando yo llegué a Burlington giraba casi totalmente en torno a Murray, que asumió una postura casi de oráculo durante las clases que daba sobre historia y filosofía. En dichas clases, simplemente leía de manuscritos en los que estaba trabajando, interrumpiéndose sólo para digresiones ocasionales (por lo general, para polemizar contra otro pensador). Nos sentábamos a su alrededor en la habitación, tomando notas frenéticamente. No entregábamos trabajos ni teníamos que dar exámenes: nuestro trabajo consistía simplemente en absorber sus reflexiones.

Este servilismo tenía su contraparte en exabruptos igualmente corrosivos por parte de antiguos seguidores desilusionados o de activistas a los que les molestaba el estatus de Murray. Con respecto a estos últimos, todos los veranos había abucheadores tratando de interrumpir las clases de Murray en el Instituto de Ecología Social y eran una preocupación cada vez que hablaba públicamente. Con respecto a los anteriores, John Clark era el ejemplo más extremo. Por un tiempo, Clark veneró a Bookchin como el “principal teórico anarquista contemporáneo”, (27) celebró sus “magnífica contribución”, (28) e incluso editó un volumen entero en su honor. (29) Sin embargo, sólo algunos años después de la publicación de su libro en homenaje a Bookchin, Clark comenzó a publicar una serie constante de artículos atacándolo, al parecer porque Clark sentía que Bookchin lo había desairado. Publicó numerosas diatribas anti-Bookchin, a menudo patéticas (como la “Confesión al Camarada Murray Bookchin, Presidente y Secretario General del Partido Ecologista Social y Fundador del Naturalismo Dialéctico (DIANAT) por parte de ‘C’”). Para Clark, Bookchin es ahora una “fuerza divisiva, debilitante” y “un obstáculo”. (30)

Aunque nunca vi a Bookchin exigiendo adulación, la motivaba indirectamente. Por ejemplo, constantemente hablaba de su mala salud y daba a entender que su muerte era inminente. Hacía esto cuando lo conocí en 1989, casi dos décadas antes de morir, y he oído relatos de un comportamiento similar veinte años antes de eso. Estos comentarios creaban un aura trágica a su alrededor y la sensación de que debíamos atesorar cada momento con él.

El corolario de esta concepción ética de la política era una obsesión con la defensa de sus puntos de vista contra las amenazas. De hecho, es probable que Bookchin haya pasado más tiempo librando batallas contra pensadores y tendencias rivales de la izquierda y el movimiento ambientalista que efectivamente desarrollando sus propias ideas.

Por ejemplo, fue autor de lo que parece ser una lista interminable de polémicas. (31) Su primera polémica importante fue “Listen, Marxist!” [“¡Escucha, Marxista!”], que publicó en la misma época en que salieron a la luz varios ensayos fundacionales (“Ecology and Revolutionary Thought” [“Ecología y Pensamiento Revolucionario”] and “Post-Scarcity Anarchism” [“Anarquismo Post-Escasez”], específicamente). También hubo polémicas al interior del movimiento ambientalista, contra los “ecologistas profundos” y algunas facciones de los Verdes (por ejemplo, Defending the Earth: A Dialogue Between Murray Bookchin and Dave Foreman [Defendiendo la Tierra: Un diálogo entre Murray Bookchin y Dave Foreman] and Which Way for the Ecology Movement? [¿Qué Camino para el Movimiento Ecológico?]; su principal polémica en el movimiento anarquista fue, Social Anarchism or Lifestyle Anarchism: An Unbridgeable Chasm [Anarquismo Social o Estilo de Vida Anarquista: Un Abismo Infranqueable]; y finalmente está su arrolladora y omniabarcante polémica, Re-enchanting Humanity: A Defense of the Human Spirit Against Anti-humanism, Misanthropy, Mysticism, and Primitivism. (32) Bookchin era un polemista extremadamente talentoso – en efecto, este fue el contexto de algunos de sus mejores escritos – pero era demasiado rudo a veces. El poeta beat Gary Snider una vez alegó en el periódico Los Angeles Times que Murray “escribe como un matón estalinista”. (33)

Otra estrategia era la de romper con seguidores que encontraba sospechosos por alguna u otra razón. Experimenté esto recién llegado a Burlington, cuando dejó el grupo Verde local que fundó, inspiró y guió. El asunto que causó la división fue extremadamente menor: durante una campaña por el municipio, uno de nuestros candidatos conspiró con el candidato del Partido Demócrata para no tratarse muy mal durante un debate y ponerle las cosas difíciles al candidato de los Progresistas (nuestro rival de izquierda). Esta era una maquinación política típica, pero en una escala insignificante: como mucho, sólo unas pocas docenas de personas prestaron atención a estos debates. Sin embargo, para Murray esto significaba una escandalosa transgresión de la rectitud moral de nuestro grupo. ¡La mala semilla del oportunismo había sido sembrada entre nosotros! Todavía recuerdo las feroces discusiones que ocurrieron en la casa de Bookchin cuando nuestro grupo se reunió para intentar resolver el asunto: se hicieron acusaciones, hubo gritos, e incluso se volcó una mesa. Parecía como si el mundo se estuviese acabando. Poco después, Murray, Janet y su aliado más cercano, Gary Sisco, se separaron, mientras el resto de nosotros formamos otro grupo. En ese momento, yo admiraba lo dispuesto que estaba Murray a convertir incluso los pequeños asuntos en cuestiones de principios, pero ahora me parece absurdo que hubiese desarmado un grupo que le había tomado años construir por un problema tan trivial, especialmente cuando podría haber sido enfrentado de tantas otras formas.

Otra táctica consistía en distinguirse de aliados que consideraba problemáticos inventando nuevos nombres para sus propios puntos de vista: en determinado momento, ya no era un Verde, sino un Verde de Izquierda; por un tiempo, propuso lo que llamó ecología social radical, no sólo ecología social; en cierto momento, abandonó el término “municipalismo libertario” por el de “comunalismo”; en otro, decidió que debía abandonar el anarquismo por el “anarquismo social” (y luego dejar el anarquismo completamente).

Dio pie a estas divisiones sin importar el costo político o el aislamiento que le supondría. (34) Por ejemplo, Murray, Janet y Gary renunciaron a la Left Green Network poco después de dejar el grupo Verde local. Como razones para su retiro mencionaron la ruptura de nuestro grupo local, tendencias hacia la formación de partido al interior de los Verdes a nivel nacional, y la salud cada vez más débil de Murray. (35) Todas estas razones eran plausibles, pero ellos se retiraron justamente cuando la Red estaba dejando de ser un pasivo comité hecho de papel y comenzando a ser una organización real dirigida por los seguidores de Bookchin e inspirada por sus perspectivas. Quizás la instancia más flagrante de esto ocurrió cuando Murray comenzó a denunciar al anarquismo en el punto más alto del movimiento anti-globalización. Ésta fue la primera vez, en décadas, que el anarquismo tenía una presencia en la vida pública y debiese haber sido un momento triunfal para él, dado que había hecho más que ningún otro pensador para recuperar el punto de vista anarquista en la segunda mitad del siglo XX. Y, aún así, en vez de aprovechar la ocasión, se refugió en un amargo alegato doctrinario.

Finalmente, su convicción de que un pequeño grupo puede transformar la historia implicaba el clásico problema asociado al voluntarismo: una despreocupación por las condiciones para el cambio social.

Esto era evidente de muchas formas, pero la más chocante para mí era el silencio de Bookchin con respecto a la supremacía blanca y el racismo, temas que él nunca confrontó ni siquiera de un modo superficial. Su falta de atención al asunto significaba que se olvidaba de uno de los factores más importantes en la constitución del mundo que buscaba transformar y aseguraba que su obra nunca inspiraría a un amplio sector del público.

Recuerdo haberme impresionado ante lo extraño que era que Bookchin se hubiese establecido en Vermont, el estado más blanco de Estados Unidos, y que las organizaciones que construyó fueran siempre predominantemente blancas (entre el 90 y el 100 por ciento) y lo mismo su cuadro. Aunque nunca fui testigo directo de lo que reconocía como un obvio acto de prejuicio, me parecía claro que Bookchin vivía en una burbuja. Lo que no capté en ese momento era que el voluntarismo de Bookchin confirmaba su ceguera: si el cambio social era una cuestión solamente de voluntad, entonces apenas había razones para comprender las condiciones sociales que experimentaba la mayor parte de la población – mucho menos para combatir políticamente contra éstas. La preparación subjetiva de la elite revolucionaria es la única tarea que importa realmente.

Dispersión y Resonancia
Los grupos revolucionarios apuntan a transformar la sociedad y, al hacerlo, a socavar las condiciones que los vuelven necesarios: después de todo, no tendrían razón para existir una vez que “cruzan a la otra orilla”, para tomar una frase de los comentarios de Trotsky sobre el sectarismo. (36) Dicho esto, es más común que dichos grupos transformen a sus miembros – y no a la sociedad – de una forma que erosiona las condiciones de su propia existencia.

Esto es ciertamente lo que ocurrió con el cuadro de Bookchin. Todos los jóvenes que se trasladaron a Burlington para trabajar con él dejaron la ciudad entre 1991 y 1992. Un grupo de considerable tamaño se fue a Alemania para aprender la lengua y estudiar filosofía continental (Adorno, en particular). Otros, entre los que me incluyo, fuimos a la ciudad de Nueva York para inscribirnos en el programa de filosofía de la New School for Social Research. Algunos simplemente desaparecieron. Esta dispersión marcó el fin de la última vez que Bookchin intentó con entusiasmo construir un núcleo para instituir sus perspectivas.

Murray era un hombre apasionado, inteligente, difícil, necesitado, carismático, arrogante, divertido y generoso: en otras palabras, era contradictorio, como todos nosotros. He intentado capturar algunos de los elementos en conflicto de su vida y su obra en este ensayo. Aunque mi perspectiva es poco favorecedora a veces, creo que una visión crítica debe ser parte de cualquier apreciación seria de su legado. Los movimientos revolucionarios asumen demasiado a menudo una postura conservadora con respecto a su propia historia.

Tengo sentimientos encontrados cuando reflexiono sobre mis años con Bookchin. Aunque en ese momento estaba entrando en la segunda década de mi vida, me parece extraordinario pensar que me comprendí a mí mismo en los términos que nos proporcionó su grandiosa narrativa del desarrollo histórico. Ya no es así, y supongo que cada generación tiene derecho a sus propias ilusiones. (37)

Pero los eventos descritos más arriba no son sólo otro relato de exceso y desencanto juvenil. Por mi parte, los dos años y medio que pasé en el núcleo de Bookchin dejaron en mí una impronta duradera y fundamentalmente positiva, a pesar de los conflictos y las contradicciones. Lo que es más importante, me permitieron imaginar brevemente que mi vida se había confundido con las tendencias históricas, algo que era electrificante y que estimuló en mí apetitos revolucionarios que todavía no se apaciguan. Fomentó también un amor duradero por el aprendizaje y un sentido más matizado de mi capacidad como actor político. Sospecho que muchos de mis pares harían afirmaciones similares.

Nunca más habrá una secta como la de Bookchin y es improbable que vuelva a haber, alguna vez, una secta anarquista de algún tipo. Las premisas teóricas necesarias para una formación como ésta – la idea de una historia universal, de contradicciones primarias y secundarias, etc. – no han tenido mucho éxito en nuestra cultura en general. Del mismo modo, los actuales movimientos de oposición ya han tenido demasiada experiencia con la democracia como para tolerar un grupo como el que creó Bookchin (y no debemos olvidar que a él le cabe cierta responsabilidad por esta maduración política).

En mi opinión, los problemas que he descrito en este ensayo no constituyen una crítica al proyecto revolucionario que abrazó Bookchin, sino solamente a la particular manera en que lo formuló. Aunque no hubiese resuelto los antiguos problemas de la humanidad o elaborado una doctrina comparable al marxismo, esto no prueba que la iniciativa a la que entregó su vida sea menos valiosa o imposible. Simplemente da cuenta de que es algo muy, muy difícil.

Aunque Murray era un militante de un calibre enteramente distinto, algunos comentarios que Engels pronunció en el funeral de Marx le son aplicables. Él era, dijo Engels de Marx, “ante todo un revolucionario. Su verdadera misión en la vida fue la de contribuir, de un modo u otro, al derrocamiento de la sociedad capitalista y de las instituciones estatales que ésta procreó… La lucha era su elemento”.

Lo mismo podría decirse de Bookchin, aunque a la cita tendría que seguirle aquella que William Morris escribió en The Dream of John Ball [El Sueño de John Ball] y que Murray utilizó para The Ecology of Freedom [La Ecología de la Libertad]: “Medité sobre todas estas cosas, y sobre cómo los hombres luchan y pierden la batalla, y que eso por lo que luchan ocurre a pesar de su derrota, y que cuando ocurre resulta ser otra cosa que la que querían decir, y que otros hombres tienen que luchar por lo que ellos querían decir bajo otro nombre”.

Murray Bookchin, QEPD.

* * * * *

Estoy agradecido con Paul Glavin, Walter Hergt, Matt Hern, Yvonne Liu, Joe Lowndes, y Mark Lance por sus útiles comentarios sobre los borradores de este ensayo.

[Nota del traductor: Gracias a Luigi Celentano, Eva González y Mónica Morales Moreno por revisar la traducción y proponer valiosas correcciones que aclararon y enriquecieron el texto final.]

NOTAS

1. Bookchin fue miembro del Partido Socialista de Trabajadores de Shachtman y del Movimiento por una Democracia de Contenido de Josef Weber. Para un excelente estudio del grado en el que los puntos de vista de Weber prefiguraron muchas de las contribuciones posteriores de Bookchin, véase: Marcel van der Linden, “The Prehistory of Post-Scarcity Anarchism: Josef Weber and the Movement for a Democracy of Content (1947-1964)”, Anarchist Studies, 9 (2001), 127-145. Para una revisión de Max Shachtman, véase Maurice Isserman, If I Had a Hammer: The Death of the Old Left and the Birth of the New Left (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1993), 35-76 y Peter Drucker, Max Shachtman and His Left: A Socialist’s Odyssey Through the “American Century” (Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press, 1994).

2. Aunque Bookchin nunca usó la palabra “secta” para describir su proyecto y ciertamente la habría rechazado, es aplicable. El Merriam-Webster Unabridged Dictionary describe una secta como “un grupo separado que adhiere a una doctrina o forma de pensar distintiva o a un líder en particular…. una escuela de filosofía o de opinión filosófica…. un grupo que sostiene perspectivas similares en política, economía u otros ámbitos”.

3. Murray Bookchin, The Philosophy of Social Ecology, 1a Edición, (Montreal: Black Rose Books, 1990), 45.

4. Murray Bookchin, The Ecology of Freedom: the Emergence and Dissolution of Hierarchy (Palo Alto, CA: Chesire Books, 1982), 319. [Hay trad. cast. La Ecología de la Libertad: el surgimiento y la disolución de la jerarquía (Madrid: Nossa y Jara, 1999)].

5. Murray Bookchin, The Philosophy of Social Ecology, 178. El mismo pasaje se encuentra también en Murray Bookchin, “Ecologizing the dialectic”, en John Clark, Renewing the Earth: The Promise of Social Ecology, A Celebration of the Work of Murray Bookchin (Londres: Green Print, 1990), 211.

6. Murray Bookchin, The Philosophy of Social Ecology, 1a Edición, 182-183.

7. Bookchin usó la palabra “crisis” a lo largo de su obra, incluyéndola en el título de muchos de sus ensayos y también en un libro (The Modern Crisis [La Crisis Moderna]). Al comentar las raíces médicas del uso del término en la teoría social, Seyla Benhabib señala que “‘crisis’ designa una etapa del desarrollo de una enfermedad que es un punto decisivo y durante el cual se alcanza el diagnóstico definitivo sobre la cura o empeoramiento del paciente”. Seyla Benhabib, Critique, Norm, and Utopia: a study of the foundations of critical theory (Nueva York: Columbia University Press, 1986), 20.

8. Bookchin, The Philosophy of Social Ecology, 1a Edición, 163-164.

9. Bookchin, Re-enchanting Humanity: A Defense of the Human Spirit Against Anti-humanism, Misanthropy, Mysticism, and Primitivism (Londres: Cassell, 1995), 235.

10. Bookchin, The Philosophy of Social Ecology, 2a ed., (Montreal: Black Rose Books, 1996), 160.

11. Bookchin, The Ecology of Freedom, 315.

12. Murray Bookchin, Remaking Society (Montreal: Black Rose Books, 1989), 202-203.

13. Por supuesto, Bookchin no pretendía que adquiriéramos una educación en el sentido convencional del término. De hecho, me inscribí en el programa “fuera del campus” del Goddard College con el fin de trabajar con él, lo que significaba, esencialmente, dar la espalda a una educación superior. El programa de Goddard no exigía que sus estudiantes asistieran a clases o siguieran un currículo específico; aparentemente, no exigía que hicieran nada en especial. Yo agradecí esto, porque me permitía vivir en Burlington y dedicarme exclusivamente a las actividades del movimiento. No me arrepiento de haber optado por esto. Sospecho que aprendí más de Bookchin que lo que podría haber aprendido en una universidad. Puesto que, ¿cómo podría competir la vida académica tradicional con una participación activa en un contexto dedicado a transformar el mundo?

14. Por ejemplo, tómese en cuenta la afirmación de Aristóteles: “Los estudios éticos podrían llamarse con justicia estudios políticos” (Retórica, Libro I, c. II, parágrafo 7).

15. Bookchin hacía una clara distinción entre la ciudad y el estado, y ésta era la premisa de su argumento de que las campañas electorales a nivel municipal pueden ser una forma legítima de activismo comunitario (y no de activismo estatista).

16. Seguramente este panfleto formaba parte de la campaña del Movimiento por una Democracia de Contenido a favor de los rebeldes húngaros. Bookchin participó activamente en ella. Véase, Marcel van der Linden, ibid.

17. Murray Bookchin, Carta al Editor, New York Review of Books, 15 de Agosto, 1985. Accedido el 14 de Junio, 2007. (http://www.nybooks.com/articles/5378)

18. Murray Bookchin, “Intelligentsia and the New Intellectuals,” Alternative Forum, Vol.1, No.1, Otoño, 1991. Accedido el 14 de Junio, 2007. (http://dwardmac.pitzer.edu/ANARCHIST_ARCHIVES/bookchin/intellectuals.html)

19. Ibíd.

20. Murray Bookchin, “On The Last Intellectuals”, Telos, 73 (Fall 1987): 184.

21. Nunca asistió a la universidad, excepto por algunas clases que tomó sobre tecnología radial después de la Segunda Guerra, y nunca tuvo un puesto académico a largo plazo (su “puesto” en el Instituto de Ecología Social era puramente nominal).

22. Murray Bookchin, “Intelligentsia and the New Intellectuals”.

23. Murray Bookchin, “Reflections: An Overview of the Roots of Social Ecology”, Harbinger: A Journal of Social Ecology, Vol. 3, No. 1, (Otoño 2002). Accedido el 14 de Junio, 2007. (http://www.social-ecology.org/article.php?story=2003111811572182)

24. Murray Bookchin, The Third Revolution: Popular Movements in the Revolutionary Era, Vol. 1 (Londres: Cassell, 1998), ix.

25. Daniel Bell, Marxian Socialism in the United States (Ithaca, Nueva York: Cornell University Press, 1996), 10, n. 13.

26. La tendencia hacia el hermetismo tenía una lógica política. En particular, asumíamos que no era posible construir un movimiento de masas en la coyuntura actual, dada la decadencia histórica generalizada que suponíamos ver a nuestro alrededor, y por ello nos sentíamos llamados a dirigirnos a los sectores más “avanzados” de la población. Esto avalaba el uso de un discurso muy esotérico y, en cierto grado, lo hizo necesario como elemento vinculante en nuestra comunidad política.

27. John Clark, “Murray Bookchin”, Encyclopedia of the American Left, ed. Paul Buhle et al. (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1992), 102.

28. John Clark, Renewing the Earth: The Promise of Social Ecology, A Celebration of the Work of Murray Bookchin (Londres: Green Print, 1990), 3.

29. Me refiero al libro citado en la nota anterior.

30. John Clark, “Municipal Dreams” en Andrew Light, Social Ecology After Bookchin (Nueva York: The Guilford Press, 1998), p. 183.

31. Estas polémicas pueden entenderse al menos parcialmente como un sustituto de las batallas políticas que Murray demandaba pero era incapaz de dar debido a su marginalidad.

32. Defending the Earth: A Dialogue Between Murray Bookchin and Dave Foreman (Boston: South End Press, 1991), Which Way for the Ecology Movement? (Edinburgh y San Francisco: AK Press, 1993), Social Anarchism or Lifestyle Anarchism: An Unbridgeable Chasm (San Francisco: A.K. Press, 1995), Re-enchanting Humanity: A Defense of the Human Spirit Against Anti-humanism, Misanthropy, Mysticism, and Primitivism (Londres: Cassell, 1995).

33. Bob Sipchen, “Ecology’s Family Feud: Murray Bookchin Turns up the Volume on a Noisy Debate”, Los Angeles Times, 27 de Marzo, 1989, p. 1.

34. A veces, Bookchin parecía apreciar su propio aislamiento, como si fuese un signo de gracia.

35. Murray Bookchin, Janet Biehl, Gary Sisco, “Burlington Greens Depart from the Network, Left Green Notes, Febrero/Marzo, 1991, p. 7.

36. Leon Trotsky, The Transitional Program for Socialist Revolution (Nueva York: Pathfinder Press, 1974), 109.

37. Irving Howe describió experiencias similares en el Partido Socialista de Trabajadores (SWP) en los años 30: “Nunca antes, y ciertamente nunca después, viví con tal intensidad, ni estuve de tal modo absorbido en ideas que fueran más allá de la pequeñez del yo. Comenzó a parecer como si la forma misma de la realidad pudiese ser moldeada por nuestra voluntad, como si aquellos realmente sensibles a los ritmos internos de la Historia pudiesen someterla. Seguí adelante con la vida cotidiana: iba a la universidad, tenía algunos trabajos ocasionales, salía con chicas ocasionalmente, vivía o al menos dormía en casa. Pero lo que importaba – apasionadamente – era el movimiento, que requería mis energías, liberaba mis fantasías, me protegía día y noche del aburrimiento diario”. Irving Howe, A Margin of Hope: An Intellectual Biography (San Diego: Harcourt, Brace and Jonanovich, 1982), 42. Existen impresionantes parecidos entre las primeras tres décadas de las vidas Bookchin y Howe: ambos eran judíos descendientes de europeos del este, nacieron con seis meses de diferencia, ambos fueron criados en el Bronx, ambos fueron miembros del SWP y ambos se unieron al Ejército.

By Laura Vales

Translated to English by Chuck Morse

From Página/12 (November 26, 2007)

Resistencia Libertaria was an anarchist group active in the 1970s. It dedicated itself to community and labor organizing and also had a military wing with which it carried out actions designed to finance the organization. Structured as a cadre group, it grew to between one hundred and 130 members, most of whom would be “disappeared” during the dictatorship. Its history is now coming to light thanks to Fernando López Trujillo and Verónica Diz, authors of a new book about this practically unknown topic. López Trujillo, a historian, was a member of Resistencia Libertaria and, in 1997, a co-founder of the Centro de Documentación e Investigación de la Cultura de Izquierda Center for the Documentation and Investigation of Left Culture). Diz is a journalist and history professor. She belongs to the generation that became politicized in the 1990s and her work has focused feminism and anarchism.

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- Why is so little known about this period of anarchist activity?

Fernando Lopez and Veronica Diz, authors of Resistencia Libertaria

Fernando López Trujillo: – One of the reasons is how it ended: the organization was destroyed and the survivors left the country. Terror is also an issue, given that about 80 percent of the group were incarcerated in the state’s clandestine detention centers.

- Where did Resistencia Libertaria come from?

- Many new anarchist groups appeared between 1971 and 1973, products of the turbulence of the era.

- You point out in your book that the new militants did not have strong links with the pre-existing anarchist organizations.

- They didn’t have contact with the old mainstays of the movement. There were three or four centers, which still exist today, representing what remained of movement of the 1920s and 1930s. The new formations were born outside of them and, in general, didn’t have a good relationship with them.

- Why?

- Above all, because most of the old groups survived on the basis of not engaging social life and saw the newcomers as a threat.

Verónica Diz:- There’s a split that repeats itself historically: the view of anarchism as an activist, social tradition, that’s engaged and works with others, versus the “I’m not getting mixed up with anybody” stance, which always ends up hurling accusations at the other side.

- Such as?

That they’re Marxists, for example, or at least not anarchists. This helps explain why the two tendencies took such divergent paths in the 1970s, and also the silence about the period. The case of María Esther Tello is one of the most striking examples of the divide. Tello, the mother of three disappeared sons, all of whom were members of Resistencia Libertaria, had returned [to Buenos Aires] from exile in France. While visiting the Biblioteca José Ingenieros one day, she said, “let’s go to the Resistance March.” Someone, in reply, said, “but there aren’t any disappeared anarchists.”

- Were they university students?

- Yes, but Resistencia Libertaria functioned as part of the workers’ movement, and went into the factories to organize there.

- You say that Resistencia Libertaria tried to fight for the revolution and against Left authoritarianism at the same time.

L.T.- Yes, the group was anti-authoritarian, built around the Bakuninist idea of militants fighting to organize but not lead the masses. The goal was to create–not take–power. It wasn’t trying to build its own political party but rather to foster the creation of organizations. For example, it was a member of the Frente Antiimperialista por el Socialismo [Anti-Imperialist Front for Socialism], which had broad, pluralistic, and democratic foundations… the Partido Revolucionario de los Trabajadores [Revolutionary Workers Party, PRT] took the Frente over around 1975. A number of groups left after it lost its independence.

- So, the relationship with the PRT was one of tension.

V.D.- There was tension and collaboration. There were shared experiences in Córdoba and La Plata. They worked together in factories and there were understandings needed to carry out certain actions. They also exchanged materials.

- And with the Montoneros?

L.T.-Relations with the Montoneros were handled much more cautiously, because they were seen as very infiltrated. But there aren’t documents about alliance policies. For instance, there isn’t anything in Resistencia Libertaria documents about the relationship with the Communist Party (Marxist-Leninist) of La Plata, with whom there were actually very close ties dating back to before the creation of Resistencia Libertaria, due to the fact that Hebe de Bonafini’s son was a friend of the Tello family and in their home all the time.

V. D.- The Tello house operated as a sort of a base of operations. Many people passed through, including individuals from Uruguay, who hid there. There was a carpentry workshop in which they made furniture with hidden compartments, which were furnished to all the organizations. Mr. and Mrs. Tello were militant anarchists, and old anarchist expropriators came to their house too. It was a gathering place during Resistencia Libertaria’s early years in La Plata.

- The group carried out armed actions?

L.T.- The problem is deciding what to call armed actions. It had a small military apparatus dedicated to self-defense and expropriation, which undertook operations intended to fund the group (robberies, in other words). If that’s armed struggle, okay, but I don’t think it really is. In any case, it never thought of itself as an organization that would fight the state in a military sense.

V.D.- And there is a myth about an organization that practiced armed struggle, and an open disagreement about the issue. Some want to see Resistencia Libertaria as anarchist guerrillas because they were armed, although that isn’t accurate. As a political organization active during the dictatorship, it had to have weapons.

L.T.- Everyone did.

V.D.- Another thing is that the history changes according to which year the person telling it was active. Some who came out of La Plata say, “Weapons? Never! We held picnics and were totally horizontal!” You have to remind them that Resistencia Libertaria was organized in cells and worked clandestinely. Of course, some find it hard to believe that an organization in which so many took part pursued a course so different from the one that they knew.

L.T.- That’s the issue: “in which so many took part.” A number of people left the organization in 1975 and Resistencia Libertaria’s trajectory changed after that. Although their comments may be correct, some times they are correct for 1973 or 1972 but not 1976.

- Why is it so difficult to establish what happened?

V.D.- Some people haven’t said a word about this for thirty years, which is why our book is a first approximation of the history. This is the case with Rafael Flores, who was the general secretary of a union (the rubber workers’ union in Córdoba). He went into exile and became a tango scholar and, though he comes here to give talks, he doesn’t want to discuss the past. He’s quite well known in Madrid… but because of the music. Others, like Hebe Cáceres, gave very thorough statements to the tribunals, but have declined to meet with us. There are also people living in Nicaragua and others who have just recently started to want to speak.

L.T.- And we’re interested in emphasizing the group’s mass politics, not so much the military apparatus, which ultimately wasn’t the most important thing. Resistencia Libertaria pursued a strategy of prolonged, popular war, and believed that the workers’ movement itself, in the process of its long-term development, would generate an organization capable of providing political leadership. And it believed that it was the workers’ movement, not Resistencia Libertaria, that had to produce the military organization needed to do battle with the state.

V.D.- And its activism didn’t accrue to a party. For instance, it didn’t put out propaganda for the organization but only for the grassroots bodies. We have a comrade named Elsa Martínez, who is disappeared. She was a journalist and the Department of Journalism in La Plata claims her as one of its own. When you read the files containing her history and the description of the circumstances of her detention, it’s clear that they seized her for economic reasons and didn’t know about her activism. And she was a 40-year-old woman, so this wasn’t someone who was just passing through. She’s a good illustration of the group’s style. With respect to the Tello family, the mother always spoke publicly about the disappearance of her sons, but that wasn’t the case with many others.

- They didn’t say that they were anarchists?

V.D.- It’s more that the state only learned of Resistencia Libertaria as its militants were being captured.

- How did that happen?

L.T.- All the members of the Communist Party in La Plata were seized. Due to Resistencia Libertaria’s economic needs, it had made a pact in 1977 relating to a series of expropriation operations, and this created an enormous security problem for Resistencia Libertaria. It had already been hit hard in Córdoba and La Plata, but in 1978 it was hit in La Plata and Buenos Aires simultaneously.

- How many militants were captured then?

- More than thirty. The majority ended up in the Banco, others in Automotores Orletti, which is where they took all the Uruguayans.

- Why is it important to remember this generation of anarchists?

L.T.- For us, it’s valuable because it shows the experience of a group whose politics were completely oriented to the self-organization of the masses, not the recruitment of new members, which is to say, the total opposite of what the Left has done over the last twenty years. The experience of the assemblies in 2001 shows how this operates, which the Left thought it could use to recruit militants.

V.D.- It gives contemporary anarchists a sense of memory. Those of us who have been active anarchists since the late 1990s always participated in the movements demanding justice for the disappeared, but often without knowing the full history. To learn that anarchists were active then is like finding your older brother.

* New Book: Resistencia libertaria

* Resistencia Libertaria: Anarchist Opposition to the Last Argentine Dictatorship

* Some Notes on the Argentine Anarchist Movement in the Emergency by Fernando López Trujillo

* Testimonio by María Esther Tello

To some militants in the CNT and FAI, it seemed that the time to declare libertarian communism had arrived: they could finally begin building the new world that they had been dreaming of during their nearly seventy years of organizing. They were on the threshold, they believed, of a truly anarchist society.

Others disagreed. The fact that the majority of anti-fascists—not to mention the majority of Spaniards—were hostile to the anarchists meant that they would need to rule against their opponents if they attempted to institute their utopian ideals. They would, in parlance of the day, have to impose an “anarchist dictatorship” if they tried to “go for everything.” Many found this possibility intolerably frightening and contradictory.

But there was another option: they could cooperate with the other anti-fascist forces—some of whom were bitterly anti-anarchist—and try to garner enough support to later realize their maximal program on a more consensual basis. This way they could avoid the obvious dilemmas of an “anarchist dictatorship,” although it would mean pushing their revolutionary aspirations into the (potentially very distant) future.

They decided to collaborate, as is well known, and by doing so set the parameters of their intervention for the remainder of the civil conflict.

The following article offers insight why they made this fateful choice, describes their decisive first encounter with the President of Catalonia, and details the activity of the Central Committee of Anti-Fascist Militias, the institutional framework for their cooperation with the other anti-fascists tendencies. It is one of few accounts of anarchist activity during the early period of the war written by a direct participant.

The essay (“Los Organismos Revolucionarios: El Comité Central de las Milicias Antifascistas de Cataluña,” in Spanish) was first printed in Solidaridad Obrera and later republished as a chapter in a book titled De julio a Julio: un año de lucha (Barcelona: Tierra y Libertad, 1937). It appears in English here for the first time. (Chuck Morse authored this preface and the translated the piece).

* * * * *

J. García Oliver:

The Revolutionary Institutions: The Central Committee of Anti-Fascist Militias

In addition to the other articles in this volume, which first appeared in the special issue of Fragua Social on July 19, we felt it appropriate to include the following piece from Solidaridad Obrera, which was printed on the same date. It offers a general overview of the revolution in Catalonia through a description of the activity of its particular institution: the Central Committee of Anti-fascist Militias.

- – -

The leader of the Mozos de Escuadra [autonomous Catalan police] met us at the Generalidad entrance. We were armed to the teeth—rifles, machine-guns, and pistols—and ragged and dirty from all the dust and smoke.

“We’re the CNT and FAI representatives that Companys called,” we told him. “The people with us are our guard.”

He greeted us warmly and led us into the Orange Tree Courtyard. There was confusion and disorder in the Generalidad Palace, but joy was also visible in the faces of all those old and young Catalanists, Mozos, Guards, police, and youth from the Esquerra and Estat Catalá. They were delighted by a glory dreamed of for centuries and yet not experienced until that very day, during which some CNT and FAI men were brought to meet the President, determined and making an impressive racket with their weapons. Catalonia, always mistreated and oppressed by the central government, trampled by Spain’s military caste, had just defeated the fascist monster. And how easy it was! In thirty hours of heavy fighting, the men from the CNT and the FAI, whose way of doing battle reminds one so much of the Almogavars, distinguished themselves above all others in the bloody and victorious struggle for freedom. This is why their representatives were welcomed with such affection and esteem, despite the fact that they carried an abundance of arms which, in anarchist hands, would previously have been regarded as murder weapons but were now justly seen as instruments of freedom.

We left our guard in the Orange Tree Courtyard, which became an encampment.

Companys stood to receive us. He was visibly excited. He extended his hand and would have hugged us if his pride—clearly impacted by what he intended to say—had not stopped him.

The introductions were brief. We sat down with our rifles between our knees. Companys stated the following:

“First of all, I must acknowledge that the CNT and FAI have never been treated in the way that they deserve, given their real importance. You have always been harshly persecuted. Even I, who had been your ally, was forced by political realties to resist and persecute you, much as it pained me to do so. Today you are masters of the city and Catalonia. It was you who defeated the fascists, although I hope you will not take offense if I point out that you had some help from Guards, Mozos, and men loyal to my party.”

Companys paused for a moment and then continued slowly:

“But the truth is that you—harshly oppressed until two days ago—defeated the fascist soldiers. And, knowing who and what you are, of course I will speak to you in the most heartfelt terms. You’ve won. Everything is in your hands. If you do not want or need me as President of Catalonia, tell me now, so that I can become another soldier in the war against fascism.

“However, if you think that in this office—which I would have left only if the fascists killed me—I, my party, my name, and my prestige can be useful in the struggle—which has ended in Barcelona, but rages on in the rest of Spain—then you can count on me and my loyalty as a man and politician. I am convinced that a shameful past has died today and genuinely want Catalonia to march in forefront of the most socially advanced nations.”

Companys was speaking with obvious candor. He was a malleable, realistic man, who experienced the tragedy of his people very deeply. They had been saved from secular slavery by the anarchists and he, using the language demanded by the circumstances, took the lead in a uniquely dignified way, something so uncommon among Spanish politicians. Without letting himself be frightened by the revolution, and understanding that it would redefine the boundaries of the possible, he intended to play a central role, as a Catalan who knew that the hour of his country had rung and as a man with extremely advanced ideas who did not fear the most audacious social interventions, which are always expressed in lived reality.

We had gone to listen and could not commit ourselves to anything. It was our organizations that had to make the decisions. We explained this to Companys.

The importance of this historic encounter between Companys and our organizations will never be fully grasped: indeed, Spain’s fate was decided in Catalonia, between libertarian communism, which would have meant anarchist dictatorship, and democracy, which meant collaboration.

Companys told us that representatives from all the anti-fascist groups in Catalonia were waiting in another room. If we agreed to participate in the meeting that he, the President of the Generalidad, wanted to call, then he would propose the formation of a body that could continue the revolutionary struggle in Catalonia until victory.

We agreed to attend the meeting, in our capacity as intermediaries and emissaries. It took place in another room where, as Companys had said, representatives from the Esquerra Republicana, the Rabassaires, the Republican Union, the POUM, and the Socialist Party were waiting. I don’t remember the names well, either because of the rush, exhaustion, or because I was never told them. Nin, Comorera, etc., etc. Companys explained why a militias committee should be created. It would reorganize life in Catalonia, which the fascist uprising had disrupted acutely, and build a military force that would fight the rebels wherever they might be. Indeed, the balance of the adversarial forces was still unclear in those moments of national confusion.

For democratic collaboration and against revolutionary dictatorship

The CNT and FAI’s reply to President Companys’s proposal was extremely significant. We responded to him, the President of a region saved from servitude by non-governmental forces, in a way that reflected the unanticipated revolutionary maturity and constructive potential of forces that had never had their capacity to rule tested, even though they were a majority in the country.

The CNT and FAI decided to accept collaboration and democracy, and thus renounce the revolutionary totalitarianism that would strangle the revolution with an anarchist, confederal dictatorship. Trusting the word and person of a Catalan democrat, we permitted Companys to carry on as President; we agreed to the formation of the militias committee and a distribution of forces within it that was not just–the UGT and the Socialist Party, minorities in Catalonia, received the same number of seats as the triumphant anarchists and CNTistas–but a sacrifice designed to lead the authoritarian parties down the path of faithful collaboration and away from suicidal competitions.

The Central Committee of Anti-fascist Militias, the real revolutionary government of Catalonia

The Central Committee of Anti-fascist Militias (CCAM) was constituted by a decree from the Generalidad. It was composed of popular, anti-fascist forces. For our sake, accepting Companys’s proposition, we did not object to the inclusion of any anti-fascist group. We were the largest force, and it was upon us that the challenge of creating real democracy fell, although we did not imitate the bigwigs who relentlessly harass their so-called “junior partners.” Without respect for the real strength of the groups in question, the CCAM was made up by the CNT, the FAI, the Esquerra, the Rabassaires, the Republican Union, the POUM, the Socialist Party, and the UGT. The Generalidad sent a representative named Prunés and a military leader by the name of Pérez Farrás, both of whom were appointed by Companys.

The Committee immediately set up shop in a large, modern building in the Palace Plaza, which had previously been occupied the Seamen’s School. It quickly organized the first expeditions of militiamen to the Aragon front. Three of its members–Durruti, Pérez Farrás, and Del Barrio–took control of two sectors of struggle in this first departure of forces. In later expeditions, the Committee sent me, Rovira, and Durán y Rosell to the front. The cataclysm had shattered the social, political, legal, and economic foundations of the life in Catalonia. The CCAM, a dynamic, popular body and authentic representation of the proletarian masses, had to respond to the war, hurrying to create, through the tireless efforts of some of its men, everything that it demanded. The organization of armies, military training, health, supply, transportation, arms production, directing operations, etc, etc.

As a whole, it was the CNT and FAI men on the CCAM who were best prepared and offered the most to the magnificent work of consolidating Catalonia’s freedom and independence. They were indefatigable; true slaves to work. After them, it was those from the Esquerra, the Rabassaires, the Republcan Union, the POUM, and finally, last among all in terms of their contribution, militants from the Workers’ General Union (UGT) and the Unified Socialist Party.

Durruti, Aurelio Fernández, Asens, Santillán, Marcos Alcón, and I represented the CNT-FAI on the CCAM; Miratvilles, Aiguader, Solá, and Tarradellas were there on behalf of the Esquerra; Torrents spoke for the Rabassaires; Fábregas for the Republican Union; Gorkín, Rovira, Gironella for the POUM; Del Barrio, Vidiella, Miret, García, Durán y Rosell (etc) represented the UGT and Socialists.

There were three very important and completely loyal military men on the CCAM; the Guarner brothers and Colonel Giménez de la Verasa. The first two were well-qualified to organize and lead the armed forces being created; the latter specialized in artillery and arms production. The CCAM began making weapons under the guidance of CNT men like Vallejo and Martín, who have done a tremendous job at rapidly transforming our metal and chemical industries into centers for making armaments, which today are vital to the war and the revolution and will be vital to the future of Catalan industry once the conflict ends.

The CCAM mandated the construction of a network of fortifications throughout Catalonia, which safeguard our freedoms and the security of our fronts. Thus far, the enemy has not attacked them, preferring instead to assault areas inadvertently left defenseless.

The CCAM also organized the internal security forces that permitted the speedy construction of a new revolutionary order. Aurelio Fernández and Asens from the CNT-FAI; Fábregas from the Republican Union, and González from the UGT worked tirelessly on this. Miratvilles put together the Propaganda Section with unrivaled skill.

Tarradellas applied his formidable will to arms production. Torrents, from the Rabassaires, patiently procured military supplies. Durán y Rosell and Marcos Alcón coordinated transportation. Santillán, Severino Campos, and Sanz organized militias that took off for the front. I was General Secretary of the War Department, the nerve center of this entire splendid enterprise.
Meanwhile, under the direction of the CCAM, Ortiz, Durruti, Jover, Del Bario, and Rovira re-took villages and lands in Aragón that had been subjected to fascist slavery, never losing a kilometer, always advancing the war for liberation and thus, in this way, placing our fields, factories, and homes beyond the reach of devastation and death.

Catalonia had a tremendous institution in the Central Committee of Anti-Fascist Militias and through it achieved unanticipated prominence. It affirmed, in a way that has never been done before, that Catalonia truly deserves liberty.

The Dissolution of the CCAM

The prolongation of the war and its international repercussions; a committee that became the real government as it eclipsed and even annulled the Generalidad; these things compelled a very significant change in Catalan political and social life: the incorporation of the CNT into the government of the Generalidad. Objective? To continue the great work of the CCAM from within the government.

We can consider the impact of the CCAM’s dissolution on Catalonia when we have won the war that we are waging against international fascism. Today I would simply like to recall—and it is unfortunate that a record of it was not made—the short speech that I gave at the CCAM meeting at which we decided to terminate the body. Those who were present know that there was a bitter note running throughout my comments, which was inspired by a concern for the future, one that was already threatening to be defined by discord within the anti-fascist family and, should it continue, will likely prevent us from being victorious in our battle against fascism and will ensure that a great Catalonia and a Spain admired throughout the world will never be created.

[Translated to English by Chuck Morse]

November 9, 2006

By Hernán Ouviña

Flavio Sosa is a member of the “provisional collective council” of the Popular Assembly of the Peoples of Oaxaca (APPO, in Spanish). Despite being one of APPO’s most visible faces at the moment, he insists on stating that “ours is a movement of the grassroots, not leaders.” What follows are some fragments of a much longer conversation that we had with him and other comrades in the tent city in the emblematic Santo Domingo Plaza, a bastion of communalist resistance in Oaxaca.

* * *

How did APPO begin?
There is a long tradition of assemblies in Oaxaca that goes back to the pre-Hispanic era–the popular assembly is the ultimate authority in indigenous communities–and APPO was born with the goal of being an assembly of assemblies; one that would include the Zapotecos, the Mixtecos, the Mixes, the rest of the indigenous peoples, and black people. It arose as an exercise in democracy carried out by the various people, communities, and organizations that want to participate in the movement.

There are 350 organizations in APPO?
Yes. Community and neighborhood organizations participated from the very beginning, as well as unions, political fronts, civil society organizations, and even professional associations. That’s why we say that APPO has many dimensions. We’re going to hold our founding congress on November 10 to November 12, in order to give ourselves a more solid and practical structure, with a platform of principles. Initially, APPO was a popular response to the aggression inflicted upon the teachers and a mechanism for reaching a common goal, which is the departure of Ulises Ruiz Ortiz. Later, the idea spread of working not only to topple Ulises Ruiz Ortiz but also to transform the conditions of life, to lay the foundations for a new relationship between society and government. In this context, there have been many interesting discussions about the reforms that Oaxaca needs and what direction the government we want should go. Intellectuals, academics, religious people, and members of other organizations have taken part. It’s as if there’s APPO on the one side and the street movement on the other, which is ultimately turning itself into a movement that is pacifist yet able to respond to attacks, such as those that we suffered at the hands of the Federal Preventative Police (FPP).

Why was the name changed from the Popular Assembly of the People of Oaxaca to the Popular Assembly of the Peoples (plural)?
This happened in the beginning of September in response to a criticism. We used “popular assembly” because that’s the space in the community for discussion, where debates happen and decisions are made. However, after thinking about it, we decided that it had to be of the “peoples” not “people,” because we are many peoples, many ethnicities. We have different roots and therefore different perspectives.

How did the leadership emerge and what is its relation to the grassroots?
The leadership came out of a general assembly that took place on June 20. It’s a council that we call “provisional collective,” but we’re going to try to give it a more definitive character at our congress. It will represent regions as well as the movement’s most active organizations, considering that there are different levels of participation. Some people are active briefly, then withdraw a bit, and then engage again when there are marches or sit-ins. Involvement varies according to each organization’s commitment and ability. There are also some groups that are very localized in specific regions and so it’s difficult for them to be in the city all the time. Oaxaca is very spread out geographically. For example, it takes 10 or 12 hours to get to Isthmus (of Tehuantepec) and the Sierra is just as far. That’s why it wasn’t possible to have permanent leaders at a central level. We’ve made various efforts, but APPO’s regionalism still isn’t very consolidated. APPO needs to reflect all the communities, which is what we’re working to do.

What’s going to happen with APPO after the constitutive congress?
We don’t know what direction this will go in, because we first have to listen to what the grassroots say. This movement was born as a response to a brutal aggression, but began to question everything: to question the media, which it seized and took over in some instances; to question the traditional ways of doing politics and attempt to articulate new methods of doing them; to question the political parties and stop any one from calling the shots; even to question the leadership itself and create a collective leadership; and also to question a bad government and try to remove it. This has made it an anti-systemic movement that alarms the political class. “How can a protest movement challenge the status quo and how we do politics?” the politicians ask themselves. Well, since the people are questioning all the traditional ways of doing politics, we think that it’s the people who should invent something new at this congress.

Are there arrest warrants out for APPO’s leadership?
There are arrest warrants for all the leaders. In fact, apparently more than 300 orders have been issued. Yesterday we learned that there was a new search warrant for Radio Universidad, supposedly to look for arms and arrest some prominent militants. We do our best not to be there, in order not to give them any pretexts. The repression has been endless. They’ve even thrown Molotov cocktails at the homes of APPO’s principal activists and have tried to mess with the homes of others. Ulises has made terror a routine political practice. He uses the police as well as hired assassins and went after us up through Thursday, imprisoning us. There’s a radio station named Ciudadana, which we call Radio Raccoon, that tells people to persecute us, to go to our homes. They even try to implicate us in criminal acts like drug trafficking to justify the repression. None of this has any basis: ours is a popular movement.

What can you tell us about the dialogue due to begin this Monday, November 6, in the city’s Cathedral?
We had always wanted a space for dialogue between APPO and civil society, because we knew that we had to address the conflict. But then the FPP came and began to raid people’s homes and arrest popular leaders in some neighborhoods. That was when the idea of the dialogue in the Cathedral arose. We spoke with Oaxaca Church authorities, who imposed a series of conditions on us. At first we agreed, even though we thought that they were excessive, because peace is an urgent necessity. However, our position changed after the battle in the University City, given that the correlation of forces and also the spirit of the people had changed. The situation in Oaxaca also looks different from a national perspective. Since the FPP’s defeat in battle, the existence of the FPP itself is now at risk, politically speaking. This gives us a very important role in the national context and, although we think that peace is imperative, we don’t want to our actions to always be defensive and conditioned. We want to go on the offensive. This is the framework for the megamarch that we’re organizing on Sunday. But it was our discussions with organisms of civil society that prompted us to create the dialogue that will begin on Monday.

Will a representative from the federal government attend?
I don’t think so, although we’ve asked to speak with them and for them to listen to us. And if the participants that are there tell APPO: “it’s not necessary for you to speak,” then we’ll respect that. We’ll leave this space to civil society. We think it’s an important space and that it will help us find a path to peace. There will be this route on the one hand and, on the other, that of popular mobilization, on which we’re going to push very hard. We also have a proposal for direct dialogue with the President, but we need our prisoners to be freed and the FPP to get out first. There’s no doubt that the solution to the conflict has to involve the departure of Ulises Ruiz and the implementation of the existing commitments for the transformation of Oaxaca.

If there is no governmental delegation at the dialogue, who will be your counterpart?
It won’t be a bilateral dialogue, but rather a multi-lateral space. We intend to say what we think so that we and various civil society actors can come to a conclusion about the best routes for peace and for getting the police and Ulises Ruiz to leave Oaxaca. That’s our objective, at least. What we expect from the discussion is good sense, proposals, and serious thought. We’ll see if we can come to an understanding.

What will happen if you force Ulises out but the federal government installs another governor with similar characteristics?
That’s not possible, because Oaxaca won’t allow it and they know it. There’s going to be a party here when Ulises falls. People who haven’t protested with us before are going to run into the street saying, “We won! . . . I was always with you!” We’ve already seen this happen during the marches. Some people don’t participate at first, but when they see themselves in this enormous mirror of the megamarches, they join.

What is the goal of this Sunday’s megamarch?
To demonstrate the movement’s strength and popular support. Also, to show our opposition to the FPP and our desire for a peaceful solution to the conflict.

Are you thinking of coordinating your struggle with the other great movements in Mexico, like the Zapatistas and the civil resistance to the electoral fraud?
Sadly, that’s not our priority right now, although we are committed to the democratic transformation of the country. We will see what’s the best way to fight for this. The social fabric in Oaxaca has suffered terrible wounds: people have lost jobs, the teachers aren’t teaching; there are problems in the communities; the health sector has shut down. Third parties have been affected, it has to be recognized. We’re in an emergency situation and need to resolve local matters first. But in no way does that mean that we will disregard national issues. In fact, we think it’s necessary to connect ourselves to the Other Campaign, the National Democratic Convention, and various additional organizations.

Some criticize you for focusing on the fall of Ulises Ruiz, given that the election of Felipe Calderón was also the result of fraud.
While it wouldn’t be right for Calderón to become president, that’s not our principle responsibility but rather that of the entire national movement. We don’t want to become the vanguard of the country’s movement. That isn’t our task. The people didn’t take to the streets of Oaxaca so that the APPO can become Mexico’s vanguard.

Members of APPO say that your movement isn’t about leaders but the grassroots. What are they talking about?
Look, you’re speaking to one of APPO’s most visible faces right now. Suppose that I decide to make a deal with Ulises: in that case, they’d push me aside and the movement would continue. I don’t make the decisions. I have a responsibility—to speak with the press and articulate a position—but I don’t control APPO. Sometimes my opinions are received favorably in the assemblies and other times they say “this guy is crazy” and simply ignore me. This isn’t a party-based movement. And you can’t try to discipline it, because it isn’t an army either. For example, yesterday it took the “provisional council” a great deal of effort to get something passed in a general assembly, despite the fact that we brought a proposal, agreed upon by consensus, arguing that the main highways should be cleared. We barely managed to get it passed. But it’s going to take a lot of work to get the base to accept that agreement, even if we explain all the virtues of the proposal. That’s something that no leader can pull off.

You’ll also clear the area around the Ciudad Universitaria, like the Cinco Señores Crossing (where the FPP was defeated last Thursday)?
There’s going to be a special situation there. If you suggest to the university people that they remove the blockades around the Ciudad Universitaria, they’ll tell you to go to hell. That’s why I said that this movement doesn’t depend on leaders. Here’s another example: they have a committee that runs Radio Universidad and, on the day of the fighting I said, “Listen, give me a moment to send a message.” They told me, “No, you can’t go in. There’s an emergency.” I insisted, telling them that I only needed a minute, but the response was the same. That’s why we say that this movement isn’t homogeneous, but multi-directional. It’s the conventional view of politics that leads people to search for someone to be the leader, perhaps someone who is at the head of the demonstrations or appears most frequently on television. Actually, some guys here painted “if you create a leader, you create a tyrant” on a wall. They have good reasons to say that and we respect them. That’s why it’s important to understand that this movement is about all of society, trying to live together and move forward together. There are comrades that wear the hammer and sickle symbol and then there are the base church communities that come with the Virgin of Guadalupe. That’s the great strength of our movement. That’s why we always say, “it’s not about the leaders.” On one occasion, when this phrase began to circulate, someone made a sign saying, “This isn’t a movement of leaders, but the grassroots” and the group later signed it. Shortly afterwards, some thoughtful young guys added underneath with a pen: “it’s not about leaders . . . or even groups.” That’s the reality.

For more information, see Asamblea Popular de los Pueblos de Oaxaca

I recently translated Abel Paz’s unabridged and revised biography of Durruti, which AK Press will publish in the next month or two. It’s very long–it will probably exceed 800 pages when complete–but it will give English readers the opportunity to explore his life with a level of detail that was heretofore impossible. Follow this link for more information.

For now, may we always remember his achievements, emulate his fortitude, and dedicate ourselves with equal passion to the anarchist cause.

Buenaventura Durruti, RIP. We will never forget you.

The social conflict that exploded in Argentina on the 19th and 20th of December 2001 is part of the crisis of legitimacy affecting Latin American political institutions and, in particular, the democratic regime that emerged from Argentina’s sinister dictatorship of 1976 to 1983. The military dictatorships suffered by our people in the 1970s gave birth to weak democracies that were subject to the blackmail of military forces that never fully left politics. The majority of these democracies, in Argentina as in Uruguay and Chile, emerged from pacts between the traditional political survivors of the storm and the military leaders that were in power during the dictatorships.(1)

On the economic plane, these restricted democracies managed to legitimize the violent concentration of wealth produced by the dictatorships for the benefit of a parasitic class, which every day became smaller and more omnipotent. The promises made by populist politicians for a greater distribution of wealth were frustrated with the continuation of a system that simultaneously shrank the economy and condemned millions to exclusion, while concentrating income and making the rich richer and more powerful. In the 1990s, during the Menem’s presidency, the privatization of public businesses, the rationalization of the state, and the weakening of labor legislation brought the number of unemployed to a quarter of the economically active population, on top of a similar percentage that was already excluded from the economy. Citizens were shocked to see politicians, who had sought their support to get into power, enrich themselves.

In 1999, the Alianza Radical-Frepasista,(2) noting the problems created by ten years of Menem’s government, promised to banish corruption from the state apparatus, the justice system, and the parliament, and to elevate the quality of life of the population. However, just after taking over, this splendid government unleashed a formidable policy of state adjustment that deepened the economic stagnation of the last four years. Unemployment, the masses of the excluded population, and the struggles of the new social movements—born at almost the same time that Menem took power—increased exponentially in the face of the administrative dauntlessness of the Radicals(3) who did not manage to institute any palliatives for the victims of their policies. And soon the political front began to fray. The Vice President of the nation resigned a year after assuming power in the face of corrupt maneuvers carried out by the government, behind his back, in the Senate that he himself led. This ending up proving that the second part of the campaign promises—the moralization of public life—was also not a priority of this administration.

Likewise, since the middle of the 1990s, many economists had warned that the “straightjacket” put on the currency by the law of convertibility, which theoretically transformed each Argentine peso into a dollar, could explode the economy at any moment: they noted that productivity was distinct, that the backwardness it produced in market prices would discourage any reactivation of the economy, and that it could only finance itself through an unsupportable foreign debt. At the beginning of 2001, this tension was already so acute that the countdown to the system’s bankruptcy began. Although the Radical government continued denying the urgency of the crisis, it seized bank deposits, which theoretically were in dollars, to avoid a run on the banks. This would have empty the financial system because the banks did not have the capacity to return these dollars to the market. The immobilization of bank deposits, which came to include all bank accounts and affected not only the middle class but also salaried workers, constituted a significant element in the increase of popular irritation that exploded at the end of 2001.(4)

In December of this year, the government responded to the increasing popular mobilization of 2001 with repression that corresponded to the scope of the consensus that the popular mobilization began to have. Also, at the same time that it tried to repress the piqueteros and other activities of the marginalized, it carried out a perverse campaign of disinformation likening the popular mobilization to a political attempt to destabilize institutions carried out by the Peronist opposition. (It is worth remarking that the Peronist opposition, from its privileged places in the parliament and the Supreme Court, did nothing during these two years except support the plundering of the people).

For the first time in our history a “Declaration of a State of Siege” was met with a popular mobilization so massive and multi-sectoral that it became inoperative and was repealed in silence a little later. This supreme symbol of disobedience to the state and its institutions marked the beginning of an extraordinary period of radical social transformation in which countless experiences in self-management and self-government were carried out with distinct success throughout the entire country.

This introduction is only a cramped synthesis of the emergency that caused the resignation of De la Rua and the process of transition in which we are currently living. The word transition seems to suggest that we are moving toward a “telos,” but for the time being it is very difficult to predict a destination for this society that is developing as if it were a laboratory for the most perverse affects of globalization.

What are the bases of this popular mobilization? Does it have organizational referents to some earlier experience or is it totally spontaneous and organic? Any response to these questions is, by necessity, incomplete. On the one hand, December’s mobilization, which continued in an intermittent form during the months of January and February 2002, can be characterized as spontaneous, multi-class, and pluralistic. In fact, the detonator of the generalized mobilization was the discourse of President De la Rua himself in which he announced the “state of siege,” a speech that was immediately answered (minutes later!) by the uncontainable indignation of thousands of residents of Buenos Aires who poured into the streets to express their rage at the taunt that his discourse signified. The spectacle of the people in the street, multiplying as the media covered events, turned the streets over to millions in the whole country with saucepans or anything that could be beaten. The movement did not have leaders, managers, or organizers. Nobody could appropriate the movement’s paternity, and the opposition parties—the left included—were probably the most surprised by the sudden explosion. The movement’s spontaneity and independence from traditional political actors gave rise to an internal crisis of the most varied political forms, a crisis that still has not passed. Although it did not have predetermined slogans, one adopted almost immediately and without recognizable origin, was: “Que se vayan todos”— They all must go —a slogan very dear to anarchists, but doubtlessly lacking concrete content.

On the other hand, it is certain that the new groups of unemployed, known by the generalizing name of “ Piqueteros ,” that have emerged over the last twelve years from the systematic destruction of the population’s sources of work and subsistence, spearheaded an agitation that began much earlier than December 2001.(5) The novelty was that towards the end of De la Rua’s government this movement achieved a visibility never before reached and a sympathy that almost transformed into popular consensus by the end of December.

Another interesting aspect of the movement was the creation of the neighborhood assemblies with an orientation towards self-management. Even when they were excessive with respect to their real possibilities of social management, these assemblies permitted a politicization and a practice of deliberation for social sectors who have been remote from such practices since the repressive storm of the 1970s. This form of democracy—which many neighbors confidently regarded as a replacement of the existing forms of political organization—only unfolded in Buenos Aires and the surroundings areas, a sizable conglomerate of around twelve million people. In the interior of the country, the experience was different and assemblies only occurred in some neighborhoods of Rosario and La Plata, which copied the example of Buenos Aires but lacked great continuity.

Anarchists immediately perceived the possibilities that a movement of these characteristics had and adopted it as a natural environment for its engagement and proposals. Militants of anarchist groups participated in many assemblies in Buenos Aires, such as those from the Federación Libertaria Argentina (Libertarian Federation of Argentina)(6) and groups connected to it, and those from the Biblioteca José Ingenieros (José Ingenieros Library),(7) a small but very dynamic group. These comrades tried to generate some type of internal coordination but could not overcome the slow dissolution of the movement. People began losing enthusiasm and withdrew as the traditional left-wing political parties tried to manipulate the assemblies, a manipulation that ultimately resulted in their definitive asphyxiation. Nevertheless, militant participation in the remnants of this experience continues: assemblies that were consolidated into neighborhood groups continue to carry out important cultural projects and provided help for the weakest families as well as support the efforts in the occupied factories.(8) This is the case of the Asamblea de Palermo Viejo (Assembly of Palermo Viejo), that of Floresta, and the Asamblea Popular del Cid Campeador (Popular Assembly of Cid Campeador), among others. A synthesis of anarchist activity in the Federal Capital and the greater Buenos Aires (GBA), should include the FORA (Regional Workers’ Federation of Argentina); the Organización Anarquista Libertad de Avellaneda (GBA; Libertad); the Organización Anarquista Bandera Negra and the Unión Fraternidad Anarquista de Berisso (GBA; Bandera Negra); the group Nueva Aurora(9) and the Organización Revolucionaria Anarquista of the Flores neighborhood in the Capital.

The engagement of more specifically militant anarchist organizations is more systematic and of a broader perspective. This is the case of the AUCA,(10) which has an influence in La Plata and southern parts of the province of Buenos Aires and the Organización Socialista Libertaria (Libertarian Socialist Organization), with a center in the Federal Capital and Greater Buenos Aires. The latter is the heir to the ideas “declared by Bakunin, outlined by Malatesta, developed by the Ukrainian group Dielo Trouda in exile and picked up by Federación Anarquista Uruguaya in 1955 in the Latin American context…[who] propose an anarchism that is a product of the class struggle, a tool for political militancy, that is social and popular, class-based, and revolutionary.” It was constituted halfway through 1996 with the name CAIN Agrupación Anarquista (CAIN Anarchist Association). In November 1997, they began to publish their periodical En La Calle ( In the Street ) monthly, together with AUCA from La Plata and the Organización Anarquista de Rosario (Anarchist Organization of Rosario). This collaborative work was maintained until September 2000, when AUCA abandoned it. The OAR also abandoned the project in September 2001.(11) Since then En La Calle has been the official periodical of the OSL.

Today, due to the radical character that this struggle has assumed, the OSL has put great energy into the Piquetero movement. They have sought to affect the direction of the movement by developing their own formation with Movimiento de Trabajadores Desocupados Anibal Verón (Unemployed Workers’ Movement Anibal Verón), a neighborhood movement that has stood out for its radicalism while not excluding the work with other unemployed groups. Their activity focuses on denouncing the true character of unemployment, publicizing the experiences of these movements, insisting in movement unity, and supporting the demands and methods that contribute to the creation of popular power. Likewise, they promote the creation of autonomous, self-sufficient, and productive projects as laboratories for the emergence of new models of sociability. They also carry out work on the union plane, wherein they promote workers’ democracy, horizontalism, and federalism.

AUCA-Socialismo Libertario is an “anarcho-specificist” organization “which means, in general terms, the union of all militant anarchist in the same collective, in the same organic body, trying to introduce anarchism to all the social processes where the class struggle is expressed.” Since 2001, they have produced their periodical Ofensive Libertaria ( Libertarian Offensive ), and also edit other newsletters that serve their areas of engagement, such as the union publication Mate Cocido ( Boiled Mate ). Their work in the unemployed movement includes its own tendency, the Movimiento de Unidad Popular (Popular Unity Movement), which is active in ten neighborhoods of three jurisdictions in the southern part of the Buenos Aires and La Plata. There they carry out propaganda and organize things such as soup kitchens, gardens, workshops for academic assistance and political eduction, political activities like the assemblies, and economic activities such as self-managed bartering networks.(12) Aguanegra is the name of a group through which they work in the La Plata’s student and university movement. They engage in political work in the Department of Journalism, Fine Arts, Humanities, Social Work and Law, and have even co-led the Student Center in the first two departments.

The AUCA and the OSL both participate in the HIJOS(13) movement and other human rights organizations as well as the struggle against police repression. In summary, the scope of both groups is considerable and the quality of its engagement magnifies and multiplies the effect of its militants.

There is less activity in the interior of the country. In addition to that already mentioned, in Mar de Plata there is: Biblioteca Juventud Moderna and the Grupo Anarquista Marplatense; in Rosario the Biblioteca Alberto Ghiraldo (magazine: Archivo ) and the Grupo Autogestionario (Magazine: Ideacción ). In Cordoba there is the activity of the Cooperativa Agrícola CARACOL and the GRANCO Grupo Anarquista de Córdoba; in Neuquén there is considerable activity through the ONAS Organización Neuquina Antonio Soto(14) and the group Colectivo Feminista Libertario “Kasandras” ; in the south in Bariloche (Province of Río Negro) the MALO (Movimiento Anarquista de Liberación Obrera) works as a neighborhood group with a library.

All of these groups have distinct (and occasionally contradictory) perspectives and sometimes are products of splits that occurred between groups many years ago. Nevertheless, their development and growth nurtures the rise of radical social movements in Argentina and the desire to organize these movements horizontally and democratically.

The recent elections in Argentina, although eventful and a product of the emergency, marked the beginning of the re-institutionalization and re-legitimization of the state. Although the government has responded rapidly and decisively to deeply felt social demands, the new social movements have not lost their legitimacy and continue to pressure the state and generate autonomous spaces. Participants in the popular mobilizations will need to think about how to manage a new society and how to replace of the state if such autonomous spaces are to grow. It is possible to imagine that a basis exists for the creation of a new Left in which the anarchist movement and the emergent socio-political and cultural actors could converge into a broader movement for anti-authoritarian self-management.

Translated from Spanish by Chuck Morse

Fernando López is a longtime anarchist and presently lives in Buenos Aires with his daughter. He is an active member of the Centro de Documentación e Investigación de la Cultura Izquierdas en Argentina, a radical archive specializing in the history of the Argentine Left. He received a grant from the IAS in January 2000 for his book The FACA and the Anarchist Movement in Argentina, 1930-1950 .

Notes

1. In Uruguay the period came to a close—although not totally—with a plebiscite in 1985, in which the recently elected government shamelessly blackmailed the people with the threat that the militaries might not withdraw to their barracks, and thus managed to release militaries from legal action who were implicated in the brutal repression of the 70s. The Chilean case is better known. The regime managed to impose a new constitution and institutionalize the power of the military over the state. The hostage character of the Chilean people in this negotiation between political and military leaders became a symbol of what these new “democracies” have meant in the last twenty years.
2. In 1999 the Peronists, in power since 1989, confronted at the ballot box a coalition of the UCR (Unión Cívica Radical, a hundred year old liberal progressive party) and the FREPASO (Frente País Solidario), a conglomerate of dissident Peronists, social democrats, and various liberal parties that took the name Alianza.
3. “Radical” refers to the UCR (Unión Cívica Radical), who are populist liberals.
4. The total “bankization” of the economy was instituted during the Menemist government by the same minister of the economy of the later government of Alianza Domingo Cavallo. It established that the payment of even the lowest daily wages or any remuneration must pass through banks, thus enriching the banks with millions of new and involuntary clients.
5. This name is generalizing because it only refers to the most common method of struggle. The activity of the marginalized is, by its own definition, invisible to the mass media, although the interruption of the circulation of people and merchandise in the country’s roads carried out by these movements imposed a visibility that the mass media (in the hand of national and multinational consortiums) tried to hide. Highlighting the distance between “reality” and that showed by the media, a slogan was popularized—painted on thousands of walls—that read, “they piss on us and Clarin says rain.” Clarin is Argentina’s largest circulation newspaper and is owned by the Consorcio Multimedios.
6. Heir to the FACA (Argentinean Anarcho-Communist Federation), which publishes the monthly El Libertario .
7. It publishes Desde el Pié .
8. Factories declared bankrupt—at times fraudulently—and abandoned by their owners that were then taken over by their personnel and put to work in a self-managed form.
9. Nueva Aurora publishes an anarchist cultural magazine of the same name.
10. AUCA means “rebel” in the Mapuche language.
11. Very likely due to internal problems of the Rosario group.
12. The MUP in the Capital Federal edits the newsletter La Voz de los sin Voz ( The Voice of the Voiceless ) together with Milicias Culturales Autónomas and Colectivo Editorial Desalambrando.
13. H.I.J.O.S. (Hijos por la Identidad, la Justicia, contra el Olvido y el Silencio—Children for Identity, Justice, Against Forgetting and Silence) is one of the most dynamic groups in the human rights movement.
14. This is the name of a celebrated anarchist leader that led the Patagonian strikes in the 20s.

In the spring of 2003 The New Formulation published an interview with Fernando López about Resistencia Libertaria, a clandestine anarchist organization founded shortly before the Argentinean military seized power in 1976.(1)

This organization engaged in militant opposition in the labor, student, and neighborhood arenas, and also had a military wing with which it financed and defended itself. The group was crushed in 1978 and 80 percent of its more than 100 members perished in the dictatorship’s concentration camps and torture chambers. López had been an active member of Resistencia Libertaria (RL) and our interview with him was the first published account of RL’s history in any language.

Shortly after that issue appeared The New Formulation received a letter from María Esther Tello. Writing from France, she informed us that she had been a member of RL and was the mother of three activists mentioned by Lopez: the beloved Tello brothers, who were among RL’s most active militants and now, like so many others, “disappeared.”

Her letter was forwarded to Argentinean comrades, our interview was made available in Spanish, and Tello visited Argentina in the fall of 2003. Long overdue discussions about RL occurred there and old bonds between comrades who had not seen one another in years began to be renewed. It was an honor to know that The New Formulation had contributed to that process.

The history of RL, and all the losses associated with it, must never be forgotten. We publish the following testimony from Tello as a small attempt to help ensure that it is not.

Chuck Morse

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My first contacts with libertarian activism

I was born in La Plata and the greater part of my professional life transpired there. I worked in public education, as a teacher in rural schools as well as in schools in working class and middle class neighborhoods. I was also a school inspector in rural and urban areas and a social worker of the Department of University Extension. This is to say that I was always linked to the disadvantaged or proletarian sectors of my country.

I was very young when I entered into anarchist activism. At fifteen years old, I began to link myself with an anarchist group called Voluntad (Will), together with someone who later became my husband and the father of my three disappeared sons. This group was made up of a dozen comrades who, for the most part, were university students or professionals. It was dedicated to the distribution of propaganda coming from the FORA,(2) or what survived of it, to [the creation of] illegal murals ( pintadas murales ), and to theoretical discussions based in the classical literature. Our material came from the Editorial Reconstruir and from La Protesta and Acción Directa or La Antorcha . Our most respected figure was Rodolfo González Pacheco, in whose vacation house I met Emilio Uriondo, an anarchist expropriator who had formed part of Ascaso and Rosigna’s group.(3)

At that time, and much later as well, marked opposition to Peronism and its depiction as a fascist movement was characteristic of the anarchist movement. It is for this reason that our practice remained remote from the working class-which was largely Peronist-except for the relations we maintained with the naval construction workers and the plumbers’ union, who were supporters of anarcho-syndicalism or the anarcho-communism of the FORA of the Fifth Congress.(4)

Although the Voluntad group dissolved, my husband, myself, and other comrades continued our activity in La Plata in a very similar vein. Our group was clandestine and did not have a name. Its methods of action were, in my opinion, more individualist and intellectual than rooted in the working class. Nevertheless, our diverse ties-which had more of a friendship than organizational character-permitted me to meet and in some cases maintain friendships with outstanding figures of Argentine anarchism, such as the aforementioned González Pacheco and Uriondo, the anarcho-syndicalists Umberto Correales and Carlos Kristof, and the veteran of the Spanish Revolution, Manuel Palanca, and his admirable companion Carmen.

This was during the final period of Perón’s rule. Perón was deposed in 1955 by a military coup that brought general Lombardi-a fervent Catholic-to power, who in turn was later replaced by Aramburu and the admiral Rojas. This was a powerful time for me. My comrades, who were primarily from the University of La Plata, discussed the possibility of joining the armed commandos-led by the center-left and above all by the Radical Party-who were to come out in opposition to a possible working class uprising in support of Perón. I knew the reality of these workers, through my students and from own family, whose lives had been objectively improved by the social laws introduced by Perón-the Christmas bonus, the loans for housing, the paid vacations, the support for health care-and I also knew that the improvements in their conditions were not due to the struggles of their unions but rather were concessions made by Perón to his supporters, in order to better manage them later. But, still, they were authentic benefits that had never been obtained-trying to suppress them was to oppose the working class that defended, in Perón, conditions of life to which they doubtlessly had a right. A little later that military government executed loads of workers, intervened in unions, censured the press.

I was the only woman in that group for a long time, although we were joined by Elsa Martínez, Amalia Peralta-Argentina’s first woman guerrilla, as a member of the Peronist Uturunco group, which she joined after leaving ours on friendly terms-and other young women on a temporary basis. This group eventually became inactive and disappeared.

Birth and Development of Resistancia Libertaria

Pablo Daniel, my oldest son, entered the Department of Engineering in 1967 and studied there for a year or two before going into architecture. He was active in the student movement of La Plata and twice arrested by the police during student demonstrations.

He and two other comrades began the nucleus of what later became Resistancia Libertaria . At the beginning it was a student group of three comrades-Pablo, Tino, and el Tano-but little by little others were incorporated. In the middle of 1969, my other two sons, Marcelo and Rafael, and their partners joined. Marcelo studied theater and Rafael studied philosophy in the Humanities Department. There was also myself, Perinola, Cristina, la Turca, Yogurt, Hernán and Elsa (who had been part of the group from the 1950s), and others, many of whom I did not meet directly (I note here that half of us were women).(5)

Almost all had finished or abandoned their university studies, joined the work force, and entered into labor struggles. In the beginning, the organization was structured around two areas of engagement ( frentes )-neighborhood and labor-and the group grew with the integration of other militants from Buenos Aires and especially Córdoba, who enriched it in every sense.

Our home and library was the center of operations and study. The events of Córdoba in 1969, the references to the French May, as well as the more or less close links with the old anarchist comrades, were the breeding ground of ideas and debates. The Department of Architecture of La Plata was also a hotbed of groups and Left tendencies, and the place from where many militants emerged who joined the labor movement in some cases or the armed struggle in others. This is how the initial group expanded, incorporating young men and women that came from other tendencies or who were beginning, more often than not, their activist lives. Couples, who soon had children, also emerged, which created strong links and a sense of solidarity among all of these youths.

Given the organization’s cellular structure that we were obliged to maintain during various military governments, I never joined the same cell as my sons. We also did not discuss what occurred in RL within the family, although sometimes we shared responsibilities and resources.

The particular composition of our group, with an equal proportion of women and tasks not differentiated by sex, offered little ground for feminist objections. Macho attitudes seemed out of place and totally untenable. I remember our dear Perinola and Elsa Martínez confronting the police during the repression of a demonstration in La Plata with the same ardor and efficiency as their male comrades. These two died tragically and their memory always fills us with emotion, as well as that of Yogurt and Cristina.

Inside the organization, self-management was an essential and undisputed practice. It functioned as a style of life and as a solution to everything we embarked upon. I think that we all shared a strong sense of fullness, of living thoroughly, of loving ourselves, and of loving the struggle and all that it embodied.

Activism in Exile

Some weeks before the military dictatorship took power in March 1976, my son Marcelo disappeared. We were persecuted and I had to stay in France where I went in exile, on the decision of my RL group. There I joined in the activities of the Support Committee [for victims of the dictatorship], which a group of Argentines had created in Paris. Later I was a member of and contributed to founding other solidarity groups that fought for the disappeared as well as Argentine and French prisoners. In 1978 my other two sons, Pablo Daniel and Rafael, were disappeared, together with Hernán and Elsa Ramírez and other RL comrades. La Turk was executed in 1976.

I returned to Argentina in 1984 and joined the Madres de Plaza de Mayo of La Plata. That same year, I initiated a trial against those responsible for the genocide. I first did this in Argentina and, when then-president Ménem announced the pardon of the military and police criminals, I returned to France, where I now live. I have again taken legal action against those responsible for the genocide, this time in the French courts. I am presently a member of the CNT, to which I make a modest contribution.

Translated from Spanish by Chuck Morse.

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1. Chuck Morse, “Resistencia Libertaria: Anarchist Opposition to the Last Argentine Dictatorship,”The New Formulation Vol. 2, No. 1 (February 2003): 75-88.
2. The FORA is the Federación Obrera Regional Argentina, an anarchist-led labor federation that played a leading role in social struggles at the beginning of the 20th century.
3. See review by Astrid Wessels in this issue for comments on Miguel Rosigna. Francisco Ascaso was a Spanish anarchist, best known for his close association with Buenaventura Durruti.
4. Tello refers here to the specifically anarchist wing of the FORA, which emerged as the result of a split in the organization.
5. In a private letter, Tello explained that “Yogurt” received his nickname “because he was very young when he joined our organization, almost a boy “that would have to drink milk.” As for “Perolina,” this name was an “allusion to her strong inclination to ingest all types of liquids, alcoholic or not, and without order or preference.”