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Corporations

A Non-reformist Resistance to Corporate Power

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The final paper I wrote to finish college interpreted many of the Progressive Era reforms which laid the groundwork for modern U.S. regulatory bureaucracies as fundamentally reactionary. Driven by corporations and their owners, the new rules served to foreclose the possibility of a resurgence of the more radical farmer and labor rebellions of the preceding decades. Writing it was not only formative to my political practice as a young activist, its lessons still guide the ongoing evolution of my sense of strategy.

Police attack striking street railway workers in New York City, 1886. (Source)

After graduation, I continued on to learn how today’s regulatory apparatus serves the same function: to regulate activists, not corporations. The latter are permitted to carry on business as usual while the former are disciplined to express our grievances in ways that don’t challenge the status quo, while accepting incremental measures rather than genuine democratic control.

It’s no wonder that corporations have invested in the regulatory infrastructure that provides them such stability and protection. Despite the Supreme Court’s pretense that corporations are people, it’s obvious to see the difference between the legal system’s treatment of human offenders, and the much softer regime of fines and penalties imposed on corporate criminals.

Generations of executives have made their wealth at the expense of countless lives, secure in the knowledge that they will never be personally prosecuted for the deaths they have caused. Even in the rare instances where a corporation is held liable and fined or penalized, our legal system protects the human decision-makers from criminal punishment. And meaningful consequences for the corporation – like revoking its charter and expropriating its assets for public use – are almost unthinkable under our current system of governance.

Graphic notes from the “Smart Regulation” panel at the ruling-class World Economic Forum gathering in Davos, Switzerland, 2013. (Source)

This is not a call to extend the criminal penal system to corporate offenders. Police and prison abolitionists have demonstrated that any expansion of the carceral state is ultimately wielded against the oppressed more than the powerful. My point is that centering regulatory redress limits our demands and what we can potentially win.

The distinction between reformist and abolitionist reforms offers important strategic insight for our related struggles. In the resistance to prisons and policing, reformist measures like body cameras and implicit bias training give police more resources, power and license to operate. Abolitionist reforms like ending cash bail or decriminalizing drugs or sex work reduce the scope of the entire system and increase people’s capacity to create real community safety without police.

A parallel distinction can help those resisting corporate power to avoid reformist strategies which empower corporations with further resources, legitimacy, or ability to maneuver. Corporate reformism can look like channeling a community’s resistance into a process that can only regulate details of a polluting facility while permitting its presence over residents’ objections. Or it can look like investing activist energy and resources in strategies that legitimate or even encourage corporate interference in policymaking.

The line between reformist and abolitionist corporate campaign strategies can be subjectively drawn in different places, but integrating the distinction should help us focus on undermining corporate power and supporting people’s movements. To me, shifting the balance of power between people and corporations means looking beyond the given regulatory channels to prioritize wins that build our collective power to center our economic and political lives around the needs of people over corporations and the owners and managers whose interests they serve.

Corporations

2022 in the corporate colony

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As people in the U.S. commemorate the colonization of this land with the Thanksgiving holiday and National Day of Mourning, two current court cases remind us that the genocide underlying that occupation continues, centuries beyond the initial conquest.

On its face, Haaland v. Brackeen is a custody challenge to the Indian Child Welfare Act’s protections against separating Native children from their kin. But by redefining Native status as a racial identity rather than nationalities, the case threatens to overturn the entire basis for Indigenous sovereignty and rights. This is clearly the goal of the law firm Gibson Dunn, which represents corporate clients including Chevron, Shell, and Energy Transfer, the company behind the Dakota Access Pipeline (DAPL). Gibson Dunn offered pro bono representation to the Brackeen plaintiffs just months after Indigenous water protectors cost their client billions in lost revenue.

Meanwhile, a Minnesota court is assessing the constitutionality of Enbridge Inc.’s funding, training and influencing the strategy of state forces charged with suppressing the indigenous-led resistance to its Line 3 pipeline.

While the corporate prerogative to exploit land and natural resources is an obvious driver in the second case, Indigenous commentators are clear that the ongoing genocide perpetuated by the separation of Native families has also always served that same agenda.

I don’t write to dictate strategy or speak over the voices linked above: anti-colonial struggles must be led by those indigenous to the land. My wish is to highlight these connections for the comrades with whom I’ve spent decades organizing against corporate power and abuse. We would do well to heed the lessons from these cases.

Corporations are just a tool that the same ruling class has used to exert its will and evade accountability since the first European settlers staked their claim to this continent. From the Mass Bay Colony to the Virginia Company, this land was colonized by corporations, which were the original governing entities from the outset.

Even after the so-called Revolution, the new nation’s first flag:

was obviously based on the flag of the British East India Company:

This visible continuity of our governing institutions from the initial colonization to the modern nation should clarify the terrain of contemporary struggle. The obstacle to justice today is the same as it ever was: corporations and government agencies alike represent the interests of a ruling class that controls both.

We should be wary of any strategy that assumes corporations and the state are oppositional forces: neither will transform the extractive social order they have constructed and enforced without sustained, organized pressure. There is no single map for a just transition, but there is also no tactical shortcut for building the power of ordinary people. As we reflect on the history this weekend, let’s make sure to connect this context to all of our struggles confronting the current face of corporate power. Only by standing together, in concrete solidarity against the shared colonial project of state and corporate violence, can we create a freer, more humane future.

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Communicating across pandemic boundaries

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Growing up within a genocidal and violently imperialist society, I’ve long recognized that my very existence implies extraction and exploitation. As such, I hold myself accountable for two types of response to that reality:

First, working proactively to subvert and dismantle oppressive systems. Organizing, political education, and a whole range of activist practice is mostly done in community with others.

Second, individually minimizing the harm I personally cause through my consumption, employment, financial and interpersonal choices. Taking responsibility for the impact of my decisions, by refusing to participate where I can find less destructive options.

Clearly, the first is primary: we won’t “individual choice” our way out of systemic injustice. But I also care about the second, not out of a guilty conscience or unrealistic pursuit of “clean hands” so much as a conviction that participating in the harm – even through passive complicity – changes me in ways I cannot easily accept. Every time I walk past someone sleeping on the street to go about my business, every time I replace my laptop or smartphone with full awareness of the conflict minerals and exploited labor involved, I act as an accomplice to capitalism’s systemic violations of human rights.

Public Art, South Street, Philadelphia.
Public Art, South Street, Philadelphia.

This has been my orientation toward the pandemic, too. Since even an asymptomatic infection can spread to others, damaging their or my own health in long-lasting ways, I decided early on to move as if I always could be a carrier, i.e. masks, distancing and avoiding non-essential gatherings and indoor activities. Two years on, my stance hasn’t changed. The ethics feel clear: every one of the millions who have died or been disabled by this virus caught it from someone, and I need to know I have done all that I can to not be that someone.

As most of the people around me resume gathering and traveling, I’ve found it increasingly difficult to communicate my boundaries without provoking a defensive or emotional reaction. Unlike my other harm-reducing lifestyle decisions (e.g. most of my friends drive cars and don’t feel attacked by my decision to live without one,) differences in COVID precautions create a much more alienating divide. My hope is that with this writing, I can explain my position to those who want to understand, without pressure to respond right away, if at all.

My choice to hold a hard line on minimizing COVID risk is between me and my own conscience, given my particular situation, privileges and variables. It is not a judgement of how anyone else is navigating this impossible situation; I fully recognize that others have legitimate reasons for making different choices.

This quote hung on the back of my bedroom door as a teenager, to remind me whenever I reached for the doorknob to go out into the rest of the world. I’ve lived according to this tenet ever since.
This quote hung on the back of my bedroom door as a teenager, to remind me whenever I reached for the doorknob to go out into the rest of the world. I’ve lived according to this tenet ever since.

I see our collective response to this pandemic as, in effect, a eugenic cull, a systematic murder and disabling of the most vulnerable in our society through a negligent fixation on keeping the pipelines of extraction flowing upward. I am selfishly fighting for my own humanity in the face of the rapid devaluation of human life at a time of increasingly apocalyptic social and environmental collapse. I simply cannot endanger anyone’s life or health for anything less than sheer necessity. And I know that the people who love me wouldn’t want to pressure me into participating in something I perceive as mass murder.

2020 fashion.
2020 fashion.

These are all “I” statements, not a bar I’m measuring anyone else against. All I expect of my friends and comrades is that they are aware of their impact and making intentional choices about how to live in right relation to their own values. I believe that to be the case across the board, even when our specific commitments and compromises diverge.

I’ve never been a big fan of the expression “there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism.” While basically true, it’s often invoked as a cop-out to avoid owning our agency and responsibility for the choices we do make, even with all the trade-offs and imperfection that entails. But in this era of pandemic, fascism and climate apocalypse, I’m rejecting the phrase for a further reason.

After contemplating the overthrow of capitalism for so many years , watching the unsustainable system ultimately overthrow itself implies a fundamental reorientation. Our work, now, is to build the systems, networks, and relationships that might hold those who survive this violent endogenous collapse.

Public Art, Broad Street, Philadelphia.
Public Art, Broad Street, Philadelphia.

So, now, every choice we make, in all our relationships, matters more than ever. Buying that book from an independent local bookstore that also hosts community announcements and events? Getting your veggies at the farmer’s market or co-op? Stepping off the cultural bandwagon that glorifies excessive consumption? Every time we withhold our participation in the systems that are killing us, and invest in those that are building a future, that is the work. And for me, right now, abstaining from activities that might spread this virus, is an act of care. Self-care and community care, but not an accusation or lack of compassion for others’ choices.

Public Art, Fairmount Ave, Philadelphia.
Public Art, Fairmount Ave, Philadelphia.

Please trust and accept that the care that I am bringing to this moment has nothing to do with judging or holding myself above anyone. We’re all doing our best, under radically imperfect circumstances, and for me that looks like continuing to hold back as long as this horrible virus runs rampant.

Let’s continue finding ways to build together that honor all of our needs and the lines we hold, whether that means online meetings, socializing outdoors, or allowing me to skip your gathering without taking it personally. This is how we build our new world: simultaneously unified and tolerating differences. We don’t need to walk in lockstep to walk together.

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My kind of “hoax”

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Disclaimer: As an older organizer who rarely participates in online activism, several friends asked me about my decision to participate in yesterday’s facebook “check in” at Standing Rock. I have no special authority on this topic, nor am I disparaging anyone else’s choice: this is really a response to several conversations, instead of writing four long emails to explain why I took the action I did.

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My first reaction when I saw the call to “check in” was skepticism that this tactic could subvert online surveillance of activists. Like many corporate campaigners, I disabled location tracking for most apps long ago because social media surveillance is not a new tactic for law enforcement and the same types of private security companies who are perpetrating harassment and violence against the water protectors in ND.

But even without a clear source for the ask or an easy way to measure the impact, I couldn’t see the harm in participating in a gesture of solidarity to raise visibility and galvanize the movement. After months of donating, divesting, demonstrating, reading, listening, speaking out and showing up, I still wake up every morning in a warm bed, not a cold campsite or a fenced-in cage. In my journey to decolonize my own mind, perfectionism has been one of the hardest ideals to unlearn: letting go of the idea of a “right” way of doing “enough.” Of course, I want to be responsible for any harms my actions may cause – intentional or not – but beyond that, the worst choice for me is silence and inaction.

Often, I don’t take online actions because the time and energy it takes this old dog to think through new tricks can feel disproportionate to the value, and face-to-face organizing can be a better use of my time. But I keep returning to these potent paragraphs by Ricardo Levins Morales who wrote, “there are things in life we don’t get to do right.” For me, this was such a moment: it wasn’t a perfect action but it seemed potentially helpful, with little potential for harm, so I chose to act by checking in, although I linked to additional readings and action steps, rather than the copy/paste explanation about subverting law enforcement.

Since the Sacred Stone facebook page could not confirm who started the tactic, it’s impossible to know if their intentions were sincere solidarity or attention-seeking, half-baked or deeply thought out. But I’ve been around long enough to know that when any mobilization builds power, detractors always step forward to criticize the tactics, if not the goals, of the participants. Before long, I began to see the comments questioning the efficacy of the check-in, even calling it a “hoax” based on a Snopes designation as “unverified” because Sheriff’s spokespeople denied using check-ins for surveillance, and no source for the action could be verified. The word may apply, but if so this felt to me like the best sort of hoax.

I’m the last person to judge those who do or don’t participate in a given tactic. Most of my organizing is never reflected on social media because I overthink the performativity of those spaces, and my best contributions are made in face-to-face work. The speed with which online actions are shared often precludes depth and accountability, and an action about Standing Rock which may not have originated there is politically questionable, to say the least. I’m not sure if checking in was a good or bad choice, but for some, the action may have served as a step towards becoming active accomplices with the movement for indigenous sovereignty.

I’d rather spend my energy planning the next action instead of agonizing over the last one. But most organizers will agree that when thousands upon thousands of people take action to publicly stand in support of your movement, that is a moment of strength and opportunity. As Dallas Goldtooth reflected on the check-ins, while this tactic is “not the gamechanger you may think it is,” it keeps folks engaged, keeps the movement fresh, and “helps show the racist arses at Morton County police department that we are more than just some rabble rousers in a field… we are a fucking global movement of pipeline fighters. So check in and come see the view.”

I have no interest in policing anyone else’s tactics, but I have made the mistake of being overly skeptical in the past, and being on the “other side” of this one felt like progress for me, personally. It’s easy to point out the flaws in any strategy, but for me it’s harder to let go of being “right” and trust in the collective power of movements. I do wish people would fact-check more before rushing to share the latest viral meme, and I will always prioritize organizing over easy gestures like changing a profile picture, or checking in. No one believes that a single facebook action is “enough,” but the speed with which this idea took hold proves that people are hungry for new tactics and ways to help. People of conscience around the world are invested in this struggle and seeking ways to stand together: and we can only find those ways by focusing on our goals, not on judging the “authenticity” of our friends’ harmless tactics.

Anyone who has been building this movement, who has spent more energy seeking liberation than debunking others’ tactics, has every right to critique the check-in and push us all to do more. But as a reformed naysayer, if that’s all you’re bringing, I urge you to try harder. As Kelly Hayes recently wrote, “Being an organizer is about understanding that, whenever possible, lateral critiques should be aimed at helping everyone – including you – to do better, rather than honing the membership of your clubhouse.” The facebook check-in is easy to critique, and I have total respect for the choice not to participate, but if you want to tell me why my choice was wrong, please also bring me a new idea of how we are going to win this fight. Because while I’m working on my perfectionism, I still know that everything I can do is not nearly enough. Let’s do this.

Providence

A big “thank you” for a small city (and tiny state)

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I moved to Providence four years ago, hoping for a stepping-stone away from an abusive family and space to regroup, rebuild the resources I had lost and figure out where to go next.

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In achieving all of that, somewhere along the way I fell in love with this place. I don’t know if I’ll be here for the rest of my life, but right now the answer to “what’s next?” is right where I am.

2For me, Providence has been a supportive, gentle and beautiful place to heal and thrive. It’s not just the elegant architecture, stunning sunsets and wild rabbits; people here have been kind, resilient and genuine, with few of the pretensions I’ve found in bigger cities.

We make art wherever inspiration strikes, large:

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or small:

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but never boring:

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No doubt, we have our work cut out to ensure that Providence serves all of its residents. In fact, one of the first people who reached out to make me welcome here lacks the paperwork necessary to feel secure above the hateful winds of prevailing national politics. But as a place to plant my feet and fight for a better future, this feels like solid ground on which to take my stand.

In addition to sharing my gratitude, I’m recording this milestone as a lesson for my controlling self going forward: you don’t always have to know where you’re going to take the right first step.

squirrelscrop

Providence

Voisine v. US: a Supreme Court ruling hits close to home this week

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When a multi-family house on my street caught fire this weekend, in addition to eight people, a dog, and about a dozen snakes, firefighters found a four-foot alligator in the third-floor apartment. According to the downstairs neighbor, she “didn’t know until today” that all of those animals lived in her building.

So when I sat down with my first cup of coffee this morning and found my block barricaded by nine police cars, I was already in a curious frame of mind. My quick search didn’t explain this morning’s incident, but I learned that the building at the center of the activity was the scene of an arrest a few months ago after a resident threatened to shoot his wife and children. At the time, police confiscated “a Springfield XD 45, a Walther PPK, and a Smith and Wesson .357 mm revolver.”

I don’t know whether my neighbor was convicted of anything, nor do I know what brought over a dozen officers back this morning. But learning these facts really drove home to me the meaning of this week’s Supreme Court ruling upholding the federal ban on gun ownership by those convicted of domestic abuse. No question: I am way more frightened of my human neighbor than any alligator. Sure, I was surprised to hear the number of reptiles living in that house, but a “friendly” and properly-regulated exotic animal does not threaten my safety in anything like the way that an armed and violent angry man does, whether or not I’m his primary target.

Now that I’m aware of the situation I can make an extra effort to pay attention and take any opportunity to extend my support to his wife and children. But I would be lying if I didn’t admit I also want someone to take his guns away for the safety of every neighbor on the street… even the alligator.

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Defeating my cigarette addiction

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Giving up cigarettes a year ago was an enormous achievement for me. Since I smoked heavily for over two decades, several friends have asked me how I did it. In honor of completing a year without one, here are my top three tips for anyone thinking of quitting.

First, and definitely most important for me, is to build up your own determination. Every time I’m struck with a craving, I think: “I want a cigarette, but I want to not smoke even more.” Before quitting, I listed out all my reasons and made sure I always had them accessible in rough moments. We probably all share many reasons in common (health, financial, political, etc.) But I recommend writing your own. Success will come down to your own commitment to your goals and priorities, so these reasons will be your foundation.

Second, when really tempted to cheat, I would think: “the cigarette is the problem, not the solution.” The drug is creating the addiction and the withdrawal, not satisfying it. Even if you cave and have a smoke, it won’t actually fulfill what you want, it will actually just make your next craving worse. But if you push through the moment without a smoke, your cravings will gradually become less frequent and less severe. A year in, I still get the occasional craving, and I still use the misery of that moment to remind myself “I don’t want this to be for naught, I don’t ever want to go through this again.”

Finally, remember you’re not alone: more than a million people quit every year. If you know what kind of support you need, there are tools to help.

QuitIt app tracks my progress
QuitIt app tracks my progress

I use one of these apps to track my progress, but I have also used music as a support. Letting go of something that has comforted me daily for most of my life felt at times like a real loss, so I created a “freedom” playlist to help me re-frame it as a gain. Listening to these songs fortified me against momentary cravings by grounding me in the liberation I was winning through my persistence. I’ll just choose one song to leave here: for anyone trying to break free of cigarettes, get Breathe, by Sara Tavares, into your playlist. You’re welcome.

Corporations, Providence

The Delightful Contagion of Public Expression

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This story is a few months old but I hadn’t told it to anyone until last week, when I realized it’s funny enough to be worth sharing and that it requires photos to tell properly, so here goes.

Back in February, in the midst of one of the coldest, snowiest winters I can remember, I was in serious need of some inspiration when I went to my neighborhood mailbox and found this sticker:

2015_2_6 Bway box

I took a photo because I had gone to send music about activism and corporate campaigns to a fellow organizer, and I knew she’d be amused. I also took it as a sign that I was living in a great neighborhood, on the west side of Providence, Rhode Island.

Crossing from the west side into downtown Providence means crossing an interstate on one of the overpasses that are dotted along its length every few blocks. Many of these bridges have water stains, graffiti and other markings, so I probably would have missed it if I hadn’t been on foot, but in the spring I spotted this incredible piece of public art:

2015_6 Washington overpass

If you can’t tell from the photo, the water stains at the bottom are natural formations, but the painting above reproduces the same pattern with dramatic effect. It stopped me in my tracks with pure joy, and also provoked a great exchange with a cyclist who noticed me photographing it while he was stopped at the red light.

This anonymous blessing reminded me of the mailbox sticker and made me want to contribute to the fun. By this time, the sticker had been removed and/or painted over, so I resolved to replace the message. I can’t paint but I do have a decent printer, so I printed the photo and put it inside of a magnetic plastic sleeve, which I stuck on the same side of the box where the sticker used to be:

2015_7 magnet

It was small but legible when standing next to the box. My hope was that someone would be inspired as I had been: perhaps the person who originally posted the sticker would see that it had been appreciated, or someone new would see the message who wouldn’t have seen it otherwise. I chose a magnet intentionally to be impermanent; I didn’t want to create clean-up work for anyone but I was curious to see how long it would stay in place.

Not only did it stay for nearly two months, the first time it rained someone adjusted it to protect it better from the rain. I had slapped it on a bit crooked, but someone clearly straightened and centered it, making the slot on the side less exposed to the elements:

2015_7 straightened

…and that’s my story: anonymous public expression inspiring more of the same. On one level, it’s a laughably small thing to do, but at the same time, it felt like a reminder from the universe (or my neighbors) that everything we do matters. Every day we have the choice to inspire each other and lift up the beauty around us. I truly hope I can find more opportunities for public art, humor and silliness in 2016 – and I’m more convinced than ever that Providence is a great city to do it in. Continuing across to the other side of that overpass, you will find this gem:

TIProvidence

I rest my case.

Music

Three songs in tribute to water

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This week, I’m thinking a lot about the residents of San Bartolo Ameyalco, Mexico whose resistance to the extraction of community water resources turned violent last week in the latest of what the State Department has predicted will be an increasing number of conflicts over water resources.

Working for the past few years on a campaign challenging corporate control of water has sensitized me to the political, economic and public health aspects of water. As the basis for all life, water has the potential to be a profoundly unifying shared interest and foundation for movement-building. You can find much more on that at the campaign website, but in this space I’m offering a tribute to the very personal, emotional, even spiritual connection each of us has with this life-giving element.

From bathing to drinking to washing dishes, every day I benefit from the gifts of the natural environment and the previous generations’ investments in the infrastructure that supports my lifestyle. So in honor of the global movement for water justice and in tribute to our daily relationship with this life-giving element, I’m welcoming June with three songs that speak to my relationship with water far better than my words can:

Music

Welcoming May with Ana Tijoux

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I’m welcoming May with Ana Tijoux’s Shock, which celebrates Chile’s student protests for universal access to education and an equitable future. The title is a reference to the neoliberal “Shock Doctrine” imposed on the country through the CIA-backed coup of September 11, 1973 and the dictatorship that followed. The regime combined brutal military rule with harsh economic austerity, which included  public school closures and the implementation of enrollment and tuition costs which restricted access for students with limited means. I won’t attempt to summarize the history, but for anyone unfamiliar, a good starting-point is Naomi Klein’s Shock Doctrine, which gives a useful perspective on the Chilean coup as well as its relationship to the broader era it helped to usher in.

Today’s student protesters invoke this history to resurrect the demand for equitable distribution of democratic and economic power, beginning with education for all. Some concessions have been won, including a reduction on the interest rate on student loans, but the work is not done: in November, four student leaders won seats in Chile’s Parliament. There is good reason to hope that the struggle for justice will continue.

Ana Tijoux, whose family was forced into exile by the coup, describes the protests as “a huge lesson about the ability to unite. This is reflected in her refrain: “No permitiremos más, más tu doctrina del shock:” we won’t allow your shock doctrine any more. It’s easy for all of us to feel disempowered by the forces that govern our lives and constrain our sense of what is possible. But by standing together, we demonstrate to each other the timeless truth that when we support each other to envision a better future, almost anything is possible.

Source Note: Since I’ve started sharing music here, I got a request to include the story of how I found each artist, when I can remember it. I’m pretty sure I first learned about Ana Tijoux when she was featured on Control Machete’s “Como Ves,” although it was several years later before I got a hold of her solo work, which is even more powerful. I saw Tijoux perform live two summers ago, and it was one of the best shows I’ve seen in a long time – if you get the chance, don’t miss her.