Knowing the Path and Walking the Path

 1.  Thinking about David Graeber.  Last semester a student came by my office to interview me for a class.  It was pro forma right up until the point she said, "I took your survey class.  If I were to guess I'd say you are an anarchist."  Cue spit-take.  But the question opened up a wonderful conversation as I tried my best to explain my ever-evolving, often contradictory personal politics.  I've never been much of a joiner, and I've always held a healthy contempt for authority.  The way I figure it, respect is earned.  While I can fool people into thinking I'm friendly and engaging, I mostly feel panic and dread when I am dealing with others.  I like the world on the margins.  I feel comfortable there.  That sense of marginality translates in myriad ways--but when it comes to politics, I distrust centralized institutions, and the established dogmas of both right and left make me want to wretch.  Point being, I prefer my politics to be local, and I like attaching myself to groups, organizations, and individuals that do more than hector people on Facebook.  For 25 years I've worked with Food Not Bombs, the Black Cross, and Athens Mutual Aid.  I've visited and made common cause with an array of anarchist collectives from New Orleans, to Haverhill, Mass. to Athens, Georgia.  Never in all that time has anyone tried to impose their particular dogma on me; on the contrary, whatever the differences of opinion, it has always been about the work.  I don't call myself an anarchist because I don't believe I deserve to--but I love and respect the hard work of the people who do.  

David Graeber came into my consciousness during the Occupy Movement of 2011.  I had been in the Middle East in February of that year at the beginning of Arab Spring and I wanted desperately to believe that our time had come as well.  Graeber's work in Zuccotti Park inspired me.  His model of organizing reminded me of the best civil rights era organizing, especially the work of Robert Moses in Mississippi--leadership through the empowerment of others.  Of course I had to go and find his books.  His work on the history of debt and on "bullshit jobs" burned down so many of the fictive narratives that dominate and shape the discourse of our time.  I even wrote him a fan letter when he was at the University of London.  His kind reply reminded me of the importance of humility, especially in the academy.  David died on September 2nd at the age of 59.  I am 59.  The whole thing weirds me out, and while rationally it seems a little silly, I feel a sense of profound loss.  I've needed people like him my whole life; the kinds of people who say, "OK, but look at it this way," and change the way I engage the world.  There is a terrible shortage of those kinds of people.  Rest in Power, David.