INTRODUCTION: ON INSURRECTION AND HISTORICAL MEMORY
It means we take care of each other. It means everything for everyone. It means we communized the shit out of this place. It means we took something that was property and made it life.
—Miss Kelley of the Hunts Point Commune
In the forties, when Miss Kelley started doing sex work in Hunts Point, she never imagined she would one day act in a pivotal event of the city’s history. But on May 6, 2052, she joined with thousands of others to storm the neighborhood’s produce market in a riot that would commence a far-reaching transformation of New York. She would go on to coordinate food reappropriation and redistribution for the fledgling commune. By the end of the summer, Miss Kelley and her comrades would be feeding a million-and-a-half New Yorkers across eleven residential communes in the Bronx and Uptown.
The insurrection of Hunts Point, and our interview with Miss Kelley, opens this collection of life histories. Miss Kelley’s memories of catapulting burning trash cans and endless meetings began this oral history project, just as those events marked the subsequent twenty years of revolutionary change in New York City. This collection bridges multiple distinct experiences, roles, geographies, and temporalities in this two-decade history. These interviews, we hope, will contribute rich and varied voices of New Yorkers as they experienced the misery and joy of the insurrections, and the growing hope that characterized this recent era. We chose Miss Kelley’s words, “Everything for everyone,” as a title because they embody not only the ethos of the assemblies, communes, and forums that collectively coordinate fulfilling our human needs, but also a heroic promise made that hot May night in the Bronx, and again and again in the years since.
The transformations of the last three decades are difficult to grasp. Many debate to what extent we should understand these events as a single, unified event—“the revolution,” “the insurrection”—or as a heterogeneous set of overlapping processes. Few even agree on a start date. Some mark the definitive rupture with the Andes in 2043, others mark the Global Assembly of 2061. Where any given account draws the line says a great deal about how the authors understand the nature of this period. Is it a toppling of an old order? The founding of a new society? A proliferation of autonomous projects of human flourishing, self-determination, and freedom?
These questions, in various permutations, have long been debated on the streets, in the crowded meetings of free assemblies and virtual planning forums. One could, and many do, define this era through the concrete abstractions that came to an end with these tumultuous events: money, the economy, the family as the basic unit of domestic reproduction, nation-states, borders, prisons, and militaries. Outside of the unfortunate events of the ongoing struggle in Australia, the forces of capital and order have been routed. Others characterize the period through what we have created since the fall of the old order: the world commune, the free assemblies, the planning forums, the local residential communes as a primary reproductive unit, or the production councils. The changes are so vast, so manifold, they elude easy summary.
About the New York Commune Oral History Project
Our present work will contribute, in a small way, to the ongoing collective efforts to grapple with these questions. The collection offers a selection of the interviews gathered through the New York Commune Oral History Project. The Mid-Atlantic Free Assembly commissioned and facilitated this project as part of a larger retrospective commemorating the twentieth anniversary of the New York Commune.
Our focus is not in offering a definitive account of the recent period. Our scope is geographically and temporally specific. All our narrators share strong ties with New York City and its immediate surroundings, including Newark and the coastal seaboard of what was once New Jersey. The first interview, with Miss Kelley, was conducted in 2067 as part of the fifteenth anniversary commemoration of the Insurrection of Hunts Point. Subsequently, the Mid-Atlantic Free Assembly commissioned us to conduct a series of oral histories along similar lines over the next five years, in anticipation of the twentieth anniversary commemoration of the New York Commune.
We concluded our final interview with historian Alkasi Sanchez in 2072. The interviews themselves focus on the events in between the Insurrection of Hunts Point in 2052 and the Mid-Atlantic Free Assembly in 2072, because it was in this period that the New York Commune emerged. We are excited and honored to be included in the wave of excellent research, memoirs, collections, public events, and celebrations that are marking this anniversary.
New York has always been a global city. Though labor markets and rural dispossession no longer drive global migration, the city continues to welcome climate refugees and those drawn by its rich, dense, heterogeneous communities. The worldwide reach of New Yorkers’ life experiences means the accounts here include attention to global events. Connor Stephens discusses his time with the North American Liberation Front (NALF) in the battles of the Rocky Mountains. An Zhou discusses ecological restoration efforts in the Coast Mountains and Great Plains, and Quinn Liu the emergence of communes in what was once China, while Kawkab Hassan recounts the liberation of Palestine and the Levant.
We selected narrators who were involved in key moments in the insurrection. Belquees Chowdhury participated in the reclamation of healthcare systems, the demilitarization of lower Manhattan, and the creation of refuge centers in her commune. Aniyah Reed, in turn, was a key player in reclaiming state exploration infrastructure. We have also both been students of gender, sexuality, and the family throughout our lives, and our interest in social reproduction influenced our choice of narrators and our threads of inquiry as well. We were particularly interested in Latif Timbers’ work as a gestation consultant, for example. We wanted each interview to reflect the arc of a narrator’s life. We did not approach any interview with a specific set of questions, and we tended to follow each person’s story as it unfolded before us. Before starting each recording, we let narrators know that they could stop at any point and could refuse any questions they did not want to answer.
We have lightly edited all interviews, including breaking up extended run-on sentences. We tried to balance maintaining some sense of the tone of the narrators’ spoken words with our intention to offer a readable text. Occasionally, we add context in brackets; for example, to indicate a narrator is laughing or crying. We decided to only conduct interviews in English because it is the language in which we are most fluent. We hope this effort will inspire many similar works in other languages. We noticed, in editing the transcripts, that some narrators (particularly those from generations close to our own), may have toned down their vernacular forms of speaking—such as AAE—during our interviews. We tried to render those vernaculars faithfully in the transcripts when they appeared in the recordings.
This written version is accompanied by a multimedia presentation, available as holos for those with aug implants or on screens. We also decided to undertake the unusual choice of a small print run of this text on bound paper sheets. Such nostalgic extravagance was hard to justify, and for the printed version we have restricted ourselves to including only twelve interviews. We thank our print publishers, a small Brooklyn-based collective called Common Notions, that has kept alive this anachronistic but aesthetically elegant method through the difficult years of the civil war. Today, they teach paper-based printing and publishing as an art to young people in the Park Slope Commune.
About the Interviewers
As the interviewers and coauthors, we met in graduate school in New York in the tens and have been friends and comrades since. Decades have passed and with them many versions of our lives.
Abdelhadi had a career as a professor, writing various books on the crisis of the self under capitalism. She maintained a life outside academia as a community-builder, artist, and storyteller. O’Brien, drawing on some prior engagement as an oral historian, became a psychoanalyst in the twenties. She wrote over a dozen nonacademic books, including a series that was influential to the transformation of kinship and caretaking relationships within the commune, once known by the phrase “family abolition.” Both of us stayed active politically, as we were able, across a range of struggles.
Neither of us were central to the events described. O’Brien, for her part, spent much of the early portion of this period in a military detention camp at Riis Beach. While there, she conducted psychotherapy and taught political theory to her fellow detainees. Abdelhadi spent most of the forties in liberated Palestine, engaging with Arab scholars who were creating new centers for communized knowledge production. In the early fifties, she returned to the Midwest in time to help rioters storm the campus of her former employer.
After the liberation of the Riis Beach Detention Facility in 2053, O’Brien spent two years supporting the struggle in the Mississippi Delta. Then she returned to Flatbush, Brooklyn, where she joined the Ditmas Commune, serving stints coordinating its robust mental health program, later its creative activities program, and finally one term on its leadership council. Her current life is devoted largely to meditation and preparation for death. She hopes the present text will be her final public work.
Abdelhadi also lives in the Ditmas Commune. She finally returned to New York in the mid-fifties after its liberation and is once again O’Brien’s neighbor in Flatbush. These days, Abdelhadi’s appetite for research has waned, and she spends her time reading fiction, writing poetry, and occasionally performing stand-up comedy.
Oral History, Trauma, and Collective Agency
Our choice of oral history was deliberate. Oral histories are an opportunity to explore the subject in history; the peculiar and contradictory nature of individual human experience as it occurs during moments of shared collective action. Oral histories are inherently contradictory, unresolved, open, and expansive. Each person brings their own psyche and their own pattern of remembering and forgetting. We came to this project particularly interested in the contradictions of memory.
In part, our interest in memory reflects our own intellectual development. In our varied roles in life, both of us have become historians, committed listeners, and keepers of a belief in the power of people’s stories. Both of us have engaged in oral history and interviewing repeatedly and have in turn been changed by listening as an art and as a practice. In our prior lives we were both academics, and we have both been shaped, in part, by the theoretical debates that dominated progressive academia in the tens and twenties.
The theoretical writing of that period attempted—and, we would argue, failed—to reconcile the fragmented and chaotic experiences of the subject with the structural determinations of social forces. What was missing was the collective human agency that would only become possible through global insurrection.
With the insurrection, human agency entered history in a radically new way. The commune provided what had previously been missing: a collective actor that could rival the large-scale social forces of impersonal market domination. With it came the material basis for a conceptual reconciliation of the long-standing philosophical debates between agency and structure. Individual experience and shared collective action work in dynamic interrelationship to each other, just as they do within the life of the commune. Like the present work, many new histories reflect this methodological breakthrough: simultaneously fragmented and unified, heterogenous and integrated, open and coherent.
Over the course of our interviews, we identified a parallel unfolding in the emotional and psychic lives of our narrators. Not only did the commune enable new forms of recounting mass history, but also new ways for individuals to relate to their own personal histories. Our older narrators faced the immense trauma of undergoing capitalist crisis, state repression, ecological catastrophe, and violence. This context of mass trauma is a major element to many of these interviews: Stephens struggling with the fallout from the civil war; S. Addams surviving a brutal religious cult built on misogynistic and racist terror; An Zhou witnessing the mass die-offs of North American forests. For a few, that trauma is clearly still with them every day.
We initially imagined the interviewing process itself as grappling with the relationship between trauma and memory. Trauma shaped what and how people remember, and what it is possible to say. Through remembering and speaking, we hoped, these interviews could contribute to narrators working through elements of their trauma. When we felt this happening, it was a powerful experience. Of course, for many narrators, this was not their first effort at processing their traumatic experiences. The narrators’ commitment to healing themselves and others were explicit themes in several of the interviews. Kayla Puan talks about recovering from an abusive parent through care networks organized by her commune. Quinn Liu’s therapeutic work with refugees in Hangzhou and Flushing is particularly remarkable. These interviews offer evidence that the commune provided a space of emotional growth and reckoning with the past.
But over the course of working with the transcripts, we began to understand a different causal force at work linking the commune to the working through of trauma: the collective agency of the commune, specifically, was essential to this healing. All these narrators participated, to varying degrees, as deliberate and self-conscious actors in a social transformation that was able to challenge and remake global social forces and institutions. The experience of successful collective action, however violent and chaotic, enabled participants to imagine and create new forms of love and solidarity, of being together with each other, and ultimately of healing. The collective agency experienced through the commune offered a powerful anecdote to the collective powerlessness of previous traumatic events.
We are sharing a rich and open story; one we are all making together. As interviewers, we practiced our own agency of selection and control in choosing narrators, in the questions we asked, in this introduction, and in this book’s final presentation. Our narrators exercised their own agency in telling their stories, refusing our questions, pursuing their own tangents and thoughts. As in the assembly, the forum, and the commune, we are joined in a shared project of collective emancipation, in tension and in solidarity.
Pre-history of the Commune: From Catastrophe to Rebellion
The focus of our interviews begins with the citywide insurrection that followed the military withdrawal from the city in 2052 and continues to the present. This introduction is intended to supplement the interviews by outlining some of the prior historical context. This context, particularly the forties, may be opaque to younger readers.
The twenties have recently become an object of mass nostalgia, featured in many dramatic and comedic works. Jumping ahead to the peak years of global insurrection in the fifties, we find the romantic and epic stories of popular struggle, as well as more fact-based historical accounts. But most of the thirties and forties are the subject of neither perverse nostalgia nor heroic dramatization. This period, particularly in areas like in North America where insurrection was not yet generalized, was marked by widespread hopelessness. Climate catastrophe, the spread of fascism, economic crisis, and escalating war were all forms of a mass collective trauma today’s popular media seems eager to forget. What stories there are about this period focus on those regions—like the Andes, Xinjiang, or the Levant—where the commune was already in formation.
In addition to the traumatic and less glamorous aspects of this period, it is difficult for contemporary audiences to appreciate the shaping influence of what we once called the “global economy.” “Capitalists” are represented primarily as nefarious supervillains in today’s popular representations. Though indeed, capitalists and their state agents were often well organized, brutally repressive, and committed to the expansion of human misery, such depictions do little to explain the universal, impersonal domination of the market. As elders, we remember a time when you had to constantly keep track of how much money you had in the bank. This amount determined whether—as one of our narrators put it—“you could afford to get sick,” whether you could keep your housing, and sometimes, even whether you could afford food. When you were hungry, you could not just wander down to your commune’s pantry and grab a snack. When you were ill, you could not just visit your care clinic and present your ailments. Even clothing and shoes had a cost! You were constantly asked to weigh the costs of your needs against each other. Nowadays, this feels like barbaric dystopia to the youth of our present and a distant, unpleasant memory to our elders.
Unfortunately, explaining the global market before liberation is beyond the scope of this project. We highly recommend Understanding the Capitalist Market, Understanding the Geopolitics of Imperialist Nation States, and Understanding Wage Dependency as supplemental reading to this section. These pamphlets were published last year by the Andean Commune and are available in nine languages. They can provide an essential aid to understanding the following history.
Throughout the first three decades of the twenty-first century, the global economy had become increasingly reliant on speculative practices increasing both the profits of the ruling class and mass immiseration. Every few years, a bubble would burst, a sector would collapse, and a new crisis would emerge. For example, a housing finance bubble burst in 2008, causing ten years of economic fallout. As the tens and twenties proceeded, these crises became more frequent, with longer-term effects. Global environmental catastrophe caused by extreme weather, warming temperatures, and rising water levels weakened governments across the world, and further slowed economic recoveries.
By the mid-thirties, a perfect storm of economic collapse and climate crisis brought the global economy to a grinding halt. This catastrophe was triggered by the collapse of the value of the US dollar, and its abandonment as an international reserve currency. The effects of this collapse were initially uneven. The poorest nation-states in the Middle East, Northern and Sub-Saharan Africa, Central America, Eastern Europe, and parts of South Asia descended into immediate chaos. States with more complex bureaucracies and higher levels of militarization held on longer. The United States, China, and Russia—the world’s most influential global players at the time—were increasingly unwilling to prop up smaller nation-states’ regimes with military and financial aid. Ruling elites in many countries made fatal miscalculations in continuing to divest from state capacity through the thirties and forties. Their now-privatized security forces proved much more fragile than the states they replaced. During this protracted global depression, capitalists were unable to set aside their rivalries to coordinate adequately in response to the new insurrections.
Amidst the chaos of economic crisis, geopolitical realignment, climate change and state failure, emerged the conditions to foster rebellion. The prior decades had eroded the legitimacy of the parties of reform. By the beginning of the forties, some form of mass protests, riots, and armed movements had erupted on every continent. Various political factions vied for supremacy amidst the tumult of the period: ethnonationalist, mass fascist, and elite-driven alliances. Pre-insurrection, there were groups who identified as communists and were commonly called the “organized left.” These groups and their rhetorical and theoretical framework largely played only a marginal role in the insurrections. Instead, the horror of crisis and the dynamics of struggle propelled mass political development. Increasingly over the course of the decade, these insurrections took on a communist character.
The first communes to rise out of the wreckage were in the Levant (2041) and in the Andes (2043). These insurrections became models for communization as more and more nation-states fell into disarray. The first commune of East and Central Asia emerged in Xinjiang in 2045, and the first commune of South Asia emerged in Chennai in 2047. The fall of China and India, enormous forces in Asian politics and economics, marked the end of nation-state power on the continent.
Insurrection Reaches the United States
The US took longer to fall. Without the generalized use of the dollar in international markets, the US government’s long-standing practice of deficit spending came to an end. With it, any semblance of social services or bureaucratic management by the state disappeared. Prolonged and severe economic crisis meant that a significant majority of US residents never again found stable waged employment.
Small and medium business owners, effectively wiped out in the crisis, allied with resource extraction firms to become the driving force behind a rise of fascist political movements around the US. Their strongest concentrations were in the Rocky Mountains and Great Plains. Left secessionist movements led by Black and Latinx militants emerged in the American South and centered in Alabama and Mississippi.
Desperate to reignite national fervor and unity as well as restart the economy, the United States began an extended invasion of Iran in 2040. The war lasted for eight years, wreaking a massive and devastating toll on Iranian life. It also destroyed the last of the already fragile legitimacy of the US ruling class. The war, despite massively restructuring the productive economy, was unable to end the nation’s economic depression. At the war’s onset, US military morale was already weak. As the war continued, morale collapsed completely. With the institution of a draft in 2043, the war became particularly odious to US soldiers and citizens alike. As one indicator of the broad and violent opposition to the war: in 2045, by the estimates of researchers in US military intelligence, more than eight thousand commanding officers in the US Armed Forces were murdered by their subordinates. By the end of the war, the US military was in chaotic disarray and open rebellion.
In the final year of the war, LARS-47 broke out, killing an estimated six hundred million people by 2051. Previously very localized, existing communes across the globe began organizing mutual-aid survival networks to coordinate provisions of water, food, and healthcare. In the United States, where the nation-state persisted, there were increasing confrontations with police, military, and private forces hired by the beleaguered ruling class. People were following the examples set by the Andes, the Levant, and others across the world by seizing food supplies, hospitals, and shelter. They reappropriated the means of survival.
Revolutionary forces had much to contend with, including the destruction of private property, the collective seizure of the productive apparatus of society, and the radical restructuring of social reproduction. By and large, however, they no longer had to face a well-organized, centralized military. Just like across the globe, the near complete failure of the nation-state had been essential to securing the success of popular forces in the US. In New York City, this was illustrated at two moments: in 2052, when the US military pulled its forces out of the city to devote attention to the civil war escalating elsewhere; and in 2056, when the US federal government declined military aid to the beleaguered NYPD, leading to the defeat of the police in the following weeks.
Defining the Insurrections: Communization, Abolition, the Assembly, the Commune
How do we understand the key dimensions of the insurrections that brought us our new world?
Setting aside pockets of counterrevolution, the various enemies of the global commune are no longer serious or immediate threats. Many readers today have never experienced a violent conflict beyond inflammatory accusations in planning forums. The social forms of the present era have enabled the growth and innovation of human knowledge, including an immense and rich proliferation of new approaches to understanding human society. For those who have experienced conflict only through interpersonal domains of commune governance or forum-based deliberation, it can appear mysterious.
We feel that looking back on this period of struggle is a chance to draw out some of the abstract qualities that helped develop its trajectory. Though these concepts have largely fallen out of use, we think remembering them is essential to our collective social development. This global, communist phase of insurrection is characterized by four closely related qualities: communization, abolition, the assembly, and the commune. Each quality emerged repeatedly through our experience of this project.
Communization
Once an obscure and abstract concept of political theory, by the middle of the forties, communization was recognized to accurately describe the new character of insurrection. Hundreds of millions of people were participating in successive international waves of street protest, looting, and mass occupation through the forties and fifties. Amidst the famine of the early forties, and later the pandemic at the end of the decade, looting focused on food, medicines, luxury consumer goods, and small arms. As the insurrections continued, they merged with mass workplace occupations and the formation of what came to be known as the production councils. A key turning point was first recognized in Lima in 2043, as workers occupying a pharmaceutical plant chose to restart production. They sought to directly supply medicines to the urban occupations. Soon occupiers at hundreds of farms and factories across the Andes began production to feed, clothe, and equip the protest movements. The phrase communization was used to understand this mode of struggle. The leap to communist relations was a direct insurrectionary act; it occurred without a mediating “transition period.”
Communization diverged sharply from many preexisting left models of anticapitalist transition. Self-identified communists and anarchists had varied visions of revolutionary social change: a seizure of state power, the coordinated leadership of a vanguard party, the free market exchange between cooperative firms, the state ownership of wage labor-based enterprises, or a long transition period gradually shifting from capitalist to socialist relations. All such frameworks proved inadequate to understand the direct, antimarket, and antistate character of the insurrection as it unfolded. Communization became the shared framework of the global movement.
Abolition
Abolition has been part of the global lexicon of revolutionary thinking for centuries. Its multiple meanings came into play during these insurrections. It most broadly meant an absolute commitment to destroy the horrors of the old world: to empty the prisons, to burn the police stations to the ground, to eliminate money and coerced work, and to wipe borders, nations, and states from the globe. This commitment, tinged with nihilism and absolute revulsion, no doubt was a central animating force for an insurrection of people who lived through the cruelty of racial capitalism. But abolition also was taken up in a different sense: simultaneously with the prerogative to destroy, emerged the prerogative to preserve, to liberate, and to lift up. To abolish prisons meant also creating new practices for grappling with interpersonal harm and violence. To abolish work meant to unleash the creative capacity for human activity without the coercion of wages. To abolish the family meant to enable people to love, to live, to parent, to care in the rich variety of ways humans are capable of. People form familial relationships of care within the broader structure of the commune—they “family” in the current lexicon—but these relationships are not the basis for material survival. Abolition preserved and transformed authentically loving features of the old society, but in radical and often unrecognizable new forms.
The Assembly
The assembly provided the main form of decision making in these new insurrections. Assemblies initially referred to nightly or weekly gatherings on street corners during riots and other urban uprisings. As communist relations of production spread through the late forties, these assemblies became sites of production councils coordinating among each other and with insurrectionary forces. New York’s history made a particular contribution to what became the global concept of the assembly. The Free Assembly of Crotona Park in 2055 (discussed in our conversation with Tanya John) was a month-long series of conflict mediation sessions between the disparate revolutionary and insurrectionary forces in the greater New York area. Through the Assembly, various insurgent factions integrated enough into a coherent armed fighting force to defeat the remains of the NYPD and other reactionary forces in the city. This convening offered the basic structure of the subsequent assemblies that came to coordinate decisions about production and distribution of goods and services.
The assembly became the shared framework for addressing collective conflicts in the decades since. As the assembly became a basis for mass collective decision-making, it would face new challenges. The insurrections of the fifties came to confront escalating internal divisions in the subsequent decade. Assemblies became the primary conflict mediation spaces to prevent major internal differences from erupting into armed confrontations. Protracted debates focused on topics like First Nations’ assertion of land sovereignty, the independence of isolated religious communities, the use of biotechnology in creating new ecosystems, or efforts to reestablish the nuclear family. These debates eventually fostered the particular balance of interdependence and partial autonomy that characterize today’s planning forums.
The Commune
Finally, the commune. The word commune was used to describe multiple new social institutions across multiple levels of scale. It identified the unit of immediate social reproduction, usually involving around a few hundred people who collaborated in coordinating food, housing, personal care, and healthcare. This narrow meaning of the word to describe a unit of domestic life is the most widely used. But the word commune also has more abstract meanings. The word was used to mark the general animating political vision that had come to dominate the insurrection, one of human flourishing in total opposition to the state and to capital, a vision of abolition. The commune also characterizes new forms of collective action, new subjectivities of interdependence, and the concurrence of dependence and freedom possible within this new social form. The word marked when various fighting organizations became strategies of shared survival, in the mode of communization. The same word was also used to describe the regional and global democratic planning networks that emerged to coordinate production and distribution, one of the uses of the assembly. The phrase commune links together multiple qualities of this new era of revolutionary society.
There is much to say about the new world that has emerged under the banner of the commune. The project of ecological restoration, climate change mitigation, and biome rediversification has become a massive undertaking, which is discussed in our interview with An Zhou. Though controversial, the establishing of the orbital communes, the lunar settlement, and the building of the space elevator in Quito are tremendously exciting. We are just starting to see the depth of transformations in human relationships to gender, our bodies, our sense of community, our relationship to technology and creative production. We feel profoundly blessed to have lived through the rise of the commune, in New York and across the world. We hope this collection of oral histories offers a small contribution to understanding this extraordinary moment in human life.
—M. E. O’Brien and Eman AbdelhadiMay 20, 2072, Ditmas Commune
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