Federico Arcos’ house sat on a quiet Windsor, Ontario, backstreet near the auto plant where he had worked. The house was as unassuming as he was, with a neatly trimmed lawn in front, and a garden around back that neighbors and friends planted when he grew too feeble to till it himself. He was particularly proud of his anarchist tomatoes; small yellow and pear-shaped, he bred them himself. He bragged that someone from a nursery cooperative in the Pacific Northwest had collected the seeds from him and distributed them because the tomatoes were just that good. Mostly, though, his visitors weren’t interested in his garden. Instead they came for his remarkable library and his extraordinary stories. He was one of the last survivors of the anarchist militias who had fought in the Spanish Civil War against the fascist forces of Francisco Franco, and for an anarchist revolution. He was adamant on that last point. His years as a militiaman and later in the underground were not to preserve or resurrect the Spanish Republic. They were in the service of a democratic workers’ revolution that would abolish capitalism.

The revolution in Spain began the same day as the civil war. Fascist military leaders tried to stage a coup and were beaten back as much by anarchist and socialist workers who stormed the armories as they were by soldiers loyal to the Republic. In Federico’s native city of Barcelona, anarchist workers belonging to the anarcho-syndicalist Confederación Nacional del Trabajo (CNT) quickly took control of the city. Already a member of the CNT—he joined the union when he was 14—in the fall of 1936 Federico joined the Juventudes Libertarias of Catolonia (the anarchist youth of Catalonia). Alongside other members of the group he went to the Comité de Defensa where they were given inadequate weapons—an old rifle and six bullets. Indignant, they told the older men, “We want to fight for the revolution as much as you do!” to which the older men responded, “There are people here much older than you who need the newer rifles. When they die you will take their place. That is your responsibility and our trust in you.” Federico spent the long balance of his life proving that he was worthy of that trust.

When the Spanish Republic finally fell in 1939, Federico fled to France, along with hundreds of others. He stayed there first in a refugee camp and then working in a tool and dye shop until 1943. Then he returned to Spain where he joined the military and began organizing with the anarchist underground. The movement was riddled with informants and, despite the heroic efforts of Federico, and his comrades, was largely ineffective. Federico finally decided to immigrate to Canada, where he again found work as a machinist, this time at a Ford factory in Windsor.

Once in Canada, he reunited with his partner Pura—who had been a militant in the famous women’s collective Mujeres Libres—and his daughter. He became active in the Canadian and American anarchist movements, serving as a mentor to several generations of activists and working with Black & Red Books and Fifth Estate Magazine, two anarchist publishing projects based in Detroit. He also began collecting anarchist materials from Spain and around the world, in an effort to ensure that the memories of his dead comrades and the ideals of anarchism would endure. In time the library he collected proved to be one of the largest in the world—containing everything from periodicals, posters and books, so many books, to Emma Goldman’s suitcase.

Federico’s library and life story attracted scholars and militants from throughout Europe and North America. He was delighted to share what he knew and show the thousands of items that he had saved. He was even happier if his visitors brought children. He always had sweets for them: a bar of chocolate, not to be eaten after 4:00 p.m. so that it wouldn’t spoil dinner, and a box of biscuits.

Transcribed by Juan Conatz

As far as I know, Ed Mann was the only member of the IWW in Youngstown, Ohio in the years after World War II. He was an ex-Marine who publicly opposed U.S. wars in Korea and Vietnam, an ardent member of the American Civil Liberties Union, and a socialist with a small “s.” He was president of Local 1462, United Steelworkers of America (USW) for three terms ending with the closing of the Youngstown mill in 1978-1979, and thereafter the animating spirit of the Workers’ Solidarity Club of Youngstown.

Extracts from Ed Mann’s autobiography appear as an appendix to my book “Solidarity Unionism.” I remember Ed especially in connection with three things.

You’ve Got To Be There

Born in Toledo, Ohio, Ed Mann settled in Youngstown when he got out of the Marines, went to work at the Brier Hill steel mill, and stayed there until the mill shut down. While at Brier Hill he took part in a number of successful job actions and wildcat strikes. One of them is remembered as “The Wildcat Over Tony’s Death,” described below:

Tony, a well-liked older employee, was on the verge of retirement. About a week before his scheduled last day of work, he was run over by a big heavy truck and died.

The truck that killed Tony had no warning horn alerting nearby workers when the truck was going to back up. The local union had grieved the absence of any warning device on the trucks. The company rejected the grievance out of hand.

Ed heard about Tony’s death after he clocked in for the afternoon shift.

Getting up on a bench in the washroom he asked: “Who’s next? Who’s going to get killed next? Don’t we give a damn about Tony?” The guys agreed to walk out.

The men gathered at the nearby union hall. Phone calls were made to friends on the midnight and morning shifts and a list of safety demands compiled. Production stopped. The mill was down. The company consented to negotiate and then, in Ed’s words, “agreed to everything.”

Ed’s reflection included the observation: “We made the steel…That’s a feeling of power. And it isn’t something you’re doing as an individual. You’re doing it as a group.” He also observed:

“I had credibility…It wasn’t prepared timing. It fell into place. You’ve got to recognize those situations. Be there when there are credible steps to take. Some people, it never happens in their lives. I was lucky.”

My wife Alice and I have borrowed the term “accompaniment” from Archbishop Oscar Romero of El Salvador. People on the Left tend to think of themselves as “organizers.” Too often this means coming into a workplace or a community, bringing people together, planning joint activities, and then—win or lose—leaving town.

In contrast, Ed believed in “being there.”

I’m Going Down That Hill

After the Brier Hill mill shut down, Ed felt able to say and do things that would have gotten him fired had he still been an employee.

Shortly before Christmas 1979, U.S. Steel announced that it was closing all its Youngstown facilities. Feeling ran high because the company had clearly stated, on TV and over the mill public address system, that it had no plans of closing. In January 1980 a mass meeting convened at the USW Local 1330 union hall, just up a hill from U.S. Steel’s Youngstown headquarters.

Area politicians went to the mike but had nothing to suggest. Then Ed spoke. His own mill was down, his local union all but disbanded. The gist of his remarks can be found on pages 153-154 of my book “The Fight Against Shutdowns.” A white steel worker speaking to a predominantly white crowd of fellow workers, Ed read a long quotation from Frederick Douglass. It included the famous words: “Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will. Find out what people will submit to and you will find out the exact measure of injustice and wrong which will be imposed upon them.” Then Ed said:

“Now, I’m going down that hill and I’m going into that building. And any one that doesn’t want to go along doesn’t have to but I’m sure there are those who’ll want to. And...we’re going to stay there until they meet with Bob Vasquez [president of the U.S. Steel local].”

When Ed finished, Vasquez said: “Like Ed told you, there’s no free lunch.” The crowd seemed to spring to its feet as one, and streamed down the hill toward the company administration building. The next thing that I heard was tinkling glass as the front door was incapacitated.

Think There’s A Better Way

Ed explained very simply the different state of affairs that he hoped would one day come into Existence:

“The Wobblies say, ‘Do away with the wage system.’ For a lot of people that’s pretty hard to take. What the Wobblies mean is, you’ll have what you need. The wage system has destroyed us. If I work hard I’ll get ahead, but if I’m stronger than Jim over here, maybe I’ll get the better job and Jim will be sweeping floors. But maybe Jim has four kids. The wage system is a very divisive thing. It’s the only thing we have now, but it’s very divisive.

“Maybe I’m dreaming but I think there’s a better way...”

Transcribed by Juan Conatz

In the past 10 years the Federación Obrera Regional Argentina (FORA, or Argentine Regional Workers’ Federation) has experienced growth and an uptick in activity as a new generation of organizers has claimed the organization’s heritage and methods, and has tried to organize in a new situation. Argentina has undergone deep changes in the years following the economic and political collapse of 2001 that rocked the country. As the economy came unhinged, unemployment surged, a popular revolt overturned a series of governments, new forms of collective resistance and organization emerged, and a neo-Peronist populist response strengthened nationalist politics in the country.

Today FORA has four locals called Sociedades de Resistencia (Resistance Societies) in the metropolitan area of Buenos Aires. Historically, Resistance Societies came out of First International syndicalist thought in Spain and Latin American countries. This tradition remained strongest in Argentina, Chile, Brazil, Uruguay and Paraguay. Resistance Societies were locals based in an area and often combined workers of different crafts. Today they function somewhat like IWW general membership branches (GMBs) with committees of workers within. FORA workers have been organizing in restaurants, bars, schools, and in printing. Organizers have taken on grievances and used direct action across Buenos Aires. The union has a constant presence of propaganda in various neighborhoods and workplaces, holds regular assemblies for workers in different workplaces, and organizes committees when possible. Nationally, the union has been active in publicizing and fighting for the release of oil workers sentenced to life in prison after a protest led to the death of a policeman and the workers were rounded up and locked up in 2014.

Similar to our own experiences in the IWW during the early 2000s, this push towards direct organizing of workers meant coming up against activist and political cultures largely insulated from workers’ struggles. Wobblies at the time experienced hostility from activists inside the organization and from outside groups. Organizing began to disrupt activists’ ability to use the union as their social space and clashed with the uniformity of those scenes. FORA distinguishes itself from political organizations and activist subcultures through its activity centered on workplaces and the needs of workers in their daily lives. Historically, unions modeled after FORA in Latin America called themselves “finalist,” meaning that they were built to meet final goals, the establishment of anarchist society freed from the state and capitalism. Today FORA is clear on these goals and stays focused in their day-to-day work. If people want to try and reform the existing bureaucratic unions, do activist work under the FORA banner, or agitate against the union’s goals, the membership has a culture of staying on target and keeping those activities outside the union. Meetings are set to discuss union-related activities of members and give organizing advice, and that is moderated and enforced.

In March 2015 I accompanied FORA members who were agitating workers across a large restaurant and bar district in Buenos Aires. The union played a message over a loudspeaker from their van, marched with flags with the image of rats (a symbol for the bosses), and distributed information about the union and how workers can improve their conditions.

I also was able to attend a meeting that aimed to organize teachers and was well-attended by teachers from the community. This consisted of a thorough discussion not only of conditions and unionizing, but also problems with pedagogical content taught in the schools, the social situation of students and families, and the intervention of the bureaucratic unions and state to perpetuate it. On March 24, FORA celebrated the day of memory and resistance commemorated nationally for the victory over the dictatorship in Argentina that lasted from 1976 to 1983. FORA participated in the march, distributing flyers about repression against the working class and the need for organization, playing drums and singing songs based on traditions from soccer and the working-class struggle in Argentina, and holding banners of the different resistance societies.

FORA has a long and rich history in being the largest and most active organization of its kind; perhaps only behind the Confederación Nacional del Trabajo (CNT) in Spain. At its peak it was the dominant force in Argentina’s labor movement for decades. FORA was formed in the late 1800s out of anarchist organizing of the first unions of the country. The unions united in 1901 and founded a federation, which later grew to a height of hundreds of thousands of members. FORA set a model which spread across Latin America to Uruguay, Paraguay, Chile, Bolivia, Colombia, Peru, Mexico and other countries. Throughout its history it took revolution seriously, leading revolutionary strikes that seized areas and began constructing a liberatory society in key insurrectionary moments. Also, it faced unparalleled repression with thousands murdered, deported, and arrested in the Semana Trágica (Tragic Week—a series of riots, led by anarchists and communists, and massacres that took place in Buenos Aires during the week of Jan. 7, 1919), the Patagonia rebelde (the name given to the violent suppression of a rural workers’ strike in the Argentine province of Santa Cruz in Patagonia between 1920 and 1922), the general strike of yerba mate workers, and throughout a series of dictatorships. The FORA was attacked repeatedly by the Radicales (social democratic party), the dictatorships of Hipólito Yrigoyen and later Juan Perón, but maintained active unions until its last congress of 1978 during the brutal dictatorship that took FORA decades to recover from. At its height it had multiple daily papers, countless locals and unions, and was unparalleled in the depth of its activity and thinking. This history is little known or discussed but continues today with the actions of young FORA members who maintain the same space occupied by the FORA for nearly a century in the working-class neighborhood of La Boca. The IWW would benefit from deepening our relationships and exchanges with our comrades in Argentina who share our same fight with their own contributions to give.

Transcribed by Juan Conatz