How I Became A Social Anarchist

All property titles are physical representations of state protection. They are the embodiment of the will and desire to use collective force for ones private interests, tragically and ironically advocated by “self made” men.

Property is theft. I came to this conclusion long before I ever even knew what Socialism was or read any Socialist writings. I came to this conclusion by rationally analyzing the existing world.

I came to these conclusions about the existing world from a very young age, from looking out of the very small window that was my available perception, my own family. I looked at my Dad as a man of great character. He worked long and hard to provide for me the things I wanted or needed. He has had a full time job ever since he was 16 years old. He works tirelessly day in and day out for someone else, his boss. His boss gives him a small percentage of what he created with his labor and takes the rest. I asked myself the question, like many children do, why? What unforeseen occurrences could have placed my father, a hard working man of great character, into such a predicament as to labor not just for our survival, but the enrichment of others?

As I grew older I came to understand that this man who called himself my fathers boss had invested capital into what was called a company. At first I admit I didn’t fully understand the concept, but it seemed fair. This person took their money and risked it to start the business, sure they deserve some compensation. My dad had the same ability to invest his hard earned capital into his own company, but he had chosen not to. That’s freedom, god bless americuh. Or did he? There is that question I always ask popping up again. Why? Why would anyone choose to labor rather than profit from someone elses? “Who would choose this undesirable life of perpetual servitude?”, I asked myself, “especially a hard working man of great character”.

Upon further years of perception I came to hold a better understanding of economics and world history. I came to understand that the present is the result of the past, and that the past was REALLY fucked up. Especially the history of this country. Here I was a child, a product of sesame street, coming to the almost instantaneous and stunning realization that some of the people around me, all of whom individuals, were categorized by the color of their skin, and placed into forced servitude. I came to understand the vast differences of culture, and education, and opportunity available to individuals based on arbitrary social constructs. I could see the invisible chains. It was at this period in my life when the ghost of lady liberty vanished, and left a void in me yearning for understanding.

I began reading constantly. “Why would people choose their own perpetual servitude?” is the question I kept asking myself. Surely, it’s such an obvious question to be asked. So obvious that I asked it before I could even understand it. I asked many others in my small window for answers but they seemingly had none. No answers at all, just justifications for it. They had given up. They had died inside. The system had defeated them. But I won’t be like them. I can surely overcome this, this ludicrous and most ridiculous social order. This blatant hypocrisy and theft from good people. Surely others have asked this question, of their selves and others. Surely someone has found an answer.

The more I searched for an answer the more angry I became. I came to understand that nearly all the richest people in the world were descended from kings and slave owners. That the capital they possessed from doing despicable things to other people throughout history was now being used as leverage to force my Father, and millions of others like him, into perpetual servitude. That my Father never had a fucking chance. I began to feel like a modern peasant. Sifting through the decay of a time past dead, but had now been resurrected by the Christ of the free market, Ronald Reagan. A time of Union Busters and Robber Barons. Joblessness and poverty. Starvation and death. All the while there’s a party going on being furnished with all the stuff we built with our own hands. “Look at them dancing and singing and fucking” I said, “oblivious to the reality that nothing exists because of green paper. It all exists because of people like my Father, whom you have manipulated into creating wealth for you. You are despicable.”

And thusly, a revolutionary is born. With a yearning for peace, but the willingness to fight. I’m determined to crash that fucking party they have furnished with our labor, if it’s the last thing I do

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