1. First, what are your current main activities? What work, and particularly movement involvements, do you do, now, or recently? And also from where do you get income?

Actually, I have a lot of irons in the fire. Right now, I’m spending the majority of my time writing for TeleSUR English and ZNet, but I’m also trying to relaunch my podcast/community radio program “Veterans Unplugged.” I did the program from 2010-2013 and eventually stopped because the radio station owner was receiving too much criticism from the station’s sponsors.

I also do a good number of speaking engagements, so about one or two of those a month. I’m helping a friend with a documentary that’s in its initial stages. Recently, I was asked to participate in a theatre production at the University of Notre Dame, so that’s another project.

When I’m not working on those projects, I’ve been helping my friends at the Restaurant Opportunities Center organize restaurant workers. I work with the local IWW chapter here in Michigan City, Indiana and various other labor, environmental, community and antiwar organizations. For a long time, I worked at a restaurant, but that became difficult, dealing with various health issues, so the Veterans Administration has helped with with subsidized programs and opportunities. That helps me survive.

2. Before all that, you were not radical, I assume. And you grew up working class, I believe. Can you tell us a bit about that?

You’re correct: I wasn’t the least bit radical as a child or teenager. My family is comprised of Italian-American and Croatian-American immigrants who migrated to New York, then Chicago, during the beginning of the 20th century. They worked in the steel mills, as railroad laborers, ironworkers, plumbers and pipe-fitters.

Most of them didn’t complete high school and no one went to college. Really, college was unheard of in my family’s history. However, they were unapologetically pro-labor. All of them were members of unions, including many of my female relatives.

I don’t think my childhood was particularly rough, but I encountered a lot of violence growing up: fights, stabbings, shootings, robberies and so on.

3. Many people who read this won’t quite understand when you say you encountered a lot of violence, but think it is not uncommon. Can you explain a bit more?

A lot of folks who grow up in urban areas are exposed to violence at a young age. When I was six, my family was attending a New Years Eve bash across the alley at a friend’s house when several men were stabbed in the basement. The cops and ambulances came to the party, people were screaming and it was a terrible mess. I remember my dad threatening to blow this guy’s head off of his shoulders because this stranger grabbed my brother by the arm and started to discipline him at a neighborhood gathering. There were several drive-by shootings in the Chicago neighborhood in which we used to live. My neighbors were violent people. Some were cops; others were gangsters; but everyone had guns.

I remember when the L.A. riots took place back in 1992, I believe. My father and his friends were at the house with weapons, locked and loaded, waiting for something to ignite the city. It was a scary time. I remember being very scared as a child. One of the last things I remember from being in the city was coming across a recently stolen vehicle. The lights were on, windows shattered and radio buzzing. My dad and I were walking our dog through the local park and came across it. Obviously, someone had just been there and was still there because by the time we came back to it, the car was gone. That night, my dad told me that his friend who was a Chicago cop found the suspect and that he was a heroin addict. All of this is quite normal in the Rust Belt.

4. What were your views as a young man, not yet political?

My great-grandfather was present during the “Calumet Massacre of 1937” and my father was in Grant Park during the 1968 police beatings, so they had some experience with movement politics, but not full-time. In fact, I didn’t even know much of this information until I was older and already involved.

To be honest, I was an intellectually ignorant but street-wise kid. My dad grew up on the streets; he hung out with bookies and Outfit types, until he met my mom. Basically, he injected me with street-knowledge, which, in all honesty, really helped me break away from the Marine Corps later on on life.

5. Don’t mean to interrupt but, “street knowledge”?

I would say that “street knowledge” is knowing when to keep your mouth shut, when to speak up and how to “act” or behave. In other words, you don’t have to be a rocket-scientist to know that cops are corrupt. In fact, you’re less likely to understand that fact if you’re a rocket scientist as you’ve probably never dealt with the cops much.

Some of it is hoodlum ideology and probably not useful for our discussion. But some of it is useful for those engaged in political movements. The ability to keep a secret is important. The ability to keep one’s word is important. Having respect for one’s self and one’s work is important. Understanding that those in power should not be “inherently respected” is important.

My father knew those things, and so did his father, and so on. They grew up in the street, not the classroom. There are both positives and negatives to that sort of education.

I will say that I held quasi-racist attitudes and beliefs as a young man and child. The neighborhoods I grew up in were extremely segregated. My family is a perfect example of “white-flight,” although they moved somewhat later than their ethnic counterparts, my teenage years were spent in Northwest Indiana. There, I attended a high school with 2,000 students and a dozen black kids. That’s how segregated the high school was, not to mention the town of Chesterton, which is about 95% white. No less than fifteen miles to the east, over 85% of Gary, Indiana’s residents are black. The two communities, outside of sporting events, do not engage with one another or even slightly communicate on a regular basis. That’s a little about my background.

6. You were in the military, can you tell us how it is you joined and your views when you entered, and then while you were in it?

I was a product of Reaganism and cultural-militarism: I loved Stallone movies and the TV show Cops. I used to run around with my brother and play “war” and “cops and robbers.” Basically, I had a gun, whether real or fake, in my hands from the time I was four years old until my early twenties.

To me, that’s a perfect example of the indoctrination process. I can’t stress how important a role culture played in convincing me to join the military. Like many young boys who are victims of patriarchy, I was molded to become a very violent and “masculine” male. For me, joining the military had nothing to do with 9/11 or patriotism. I joined for adventure and to not end up in the steel mills.

The whole thing sounded exciting: guns, war, helicopters, jets, ships, and so on. At the time, I thought that being a “man” meant being strong, emotionally void, muscular, violent and intimidating. That had a lot to do with it. People don’t join the military because it’s a dreaded position in society; people join the military because movies, TV shows, history books and the dominant culture glorifies war and praises, albeit superficially, those who fought.

Like many young men, I was enamored with the idea of being a “sexy-hero.” You know, someone who wears the uniform.

7. How did you become radicalized, and what did it mean for you – that is, what was the change in your attitudes and inclinations as you first became radical and then decided to become active – but before you had much activist experience?

It started with culture. From 2002 – 2006, many of my high school friends were attending college while I was in the Marine Corps, so they would give me their books and discuss what they’d been learning in class whenever I was home on leave. I think I was reading a lot of Hunter S. Thompson and William S. Burroughs at the time. Plus, the Nation magazine and New York Times. You know, liberal stuff.

Also, to be clear, I was experimenting with a lot of drugs. And not to sound too-hippy-dippy, or ridiculous, but I would be very dishonest if I said that those experiences didn’t have a profoundly positive impact on my world-view, values, and political ideology. In short, those experiences helped me “open-up” and become a bit more critical.

I’m skipping some time, but before my second deployment, a friend took me to the San Diego movie theatre to watch Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11. Afterwards, I called my dad on the phone and told him that he was right: I shouldn’t have joined the military. Back in high school, when I signed the contract, my dad told me, “Son, they’re going to send you to die in another bullshit war like Vietnam. Please don’t go. I’ll get you an ironworking job!” I was seventeen and much wiser than my old man, so I didn’t pay attention to his advice. However, after watching the film, coupled with my readings and cultural experiences, I understood what he meant. Without doubt, Michael Moore’s film served as the single-greatest catalyst for my personal growth and change. I participated in my second deployment with “eyes-wide-open.”

8. But you went back and did participate, why, and what next?

Yes, I did. Here, I think a vibrant left would have helped. At that time, if I would have been connected with serious antiwar organizers and GI resisters, I have no doubt that I would have refused to deploy again. Really, there’s no doubt in my mind. I thought about going AWOL, but since my first deployment was cut short due to an illness in my immediate family, I wanted to experience a full deployment with those I trained with for so many years. Plus, the idea of just running away was totally out of the question for me. Without the Marine Corps, at that time, I would have been working at Walmart or McDonalds. Which is worse? A casual observer might argue that war is worse. I’m not sure I agree.

The second tour for our unit was a disaster from the beginning. Our battalion took over a train station in Western Iraq, a small town called Al Qaim, which is located just south of the Euphrates River and a few miles east of the Syrian border. The day we arrived our company commander was killed on a patrol. To me, this signaled one very clear principle: In Iraq, it didn’t matter how much experience you previously had in the war-zone. If you’re vehicle runs over an IED or land mine, it’s over with. And there’s nothing that good physical or mental training can do to prevent such things. To me, that was enough to understand that the mission was insane, just on military grounds alone.

9. Did others instead get mad and dig in, or get sad and dig in? Were you seriously different than most, at that stage? And then what…

Well, yes, when I think about it, many of the guys did “dig in.” The death of Captain Rowe only furthered their anger and resentment. Plus, it was our first day in country, so people were chomping at the bit for action. They wanted to kill. After all, it was exactly what we were trained to do for many months. My actions weren’t different than most. For the first half of the deployment, I reluctantly followed orders and towed the line.

Things changed as I encountered more action, deaths and destruction. It all become quite pointless, not that it wasn’t before those instances. I should also mention that I was listening to a lot of music at the time, so that helped tremendously. The bands were uniquely from my generation: Tool, Nine Inch Nails, A Perfect Circle, Deftones, Nirvana, Portishead, and so on. These cultural influences kept me sane and thinking critically, as much as any book or conversation did during the deployment.

Since I was in the infantry, the majority of my deployment was spent patrolling, conducting vehicle checkpoints, house raids or standing post. Unfortunately, I watched as my fellow Marines shot at innocent people, tortured prisoners and mutilated dead bodies. All of this took place on a regular basis. Some of this was directed “from the top down,” but much of it was not.

10. Broadly, if you can, what is going on in a person’s mind as they shoot innocent people, torture prisoners, and mutilate dead bodies? Is it just following orders and not thinking about it? Is it agreeing with the orders? Is there remorse and pain, or does one simply make oneself callous, a man’s man, I suppose? I wonder, what do you think PTSD is?

Many of the Marines took it upon themselves to act in such barbarous ways, which is interesting because it goes against the common leftist-notion that all of this behavior overseas was “coordinated” by those in charge. Sure, that might be mostly true, but not always. And the fact that these Marines did these acts on their own accord scared me more than those who were simply following orders.

For me, there’s different processes for each moment. So, for example, shooting innocent people is an easy thing to do. All one has to do is pull the trigger. Pulling a trigger is an easy thing to do, especially when the target is far away, not up-close and personal. It’s a simple act, just flipping your pointer finger backward.

As far as torturing prisoners is concerned, I think a lot of guys enjoyed doing it because it allowed them to feel powerful and punish someone for the fact that they were in a horrific context. Like rape, which is also a major problem in the US military, torture is the exertion of power. And power is intoxicating for some.

I never understood the mutilation of corpses. Some local resistance fighters used to chop off the heads of Iraqi Police officers and place notes on their bodies, lined up on the side of the road. My fellow Marines would drive over the decapitated bodies, all the while taking pictures and laughing.

How do I even begin to process this sort of insane and absurd behavior? I don’t know. Again, no one gave us “orders” to mutilate corpses. That was done solely on their own accord. The same goes with a lot of the torture and killing of civilians. Actually, many of the higher command denounced such behavior as they knew it would result in immediate blowback. It was the younger, enlisted types, you know, the real ignorant kids from backwoods Tennessee and Indiana, who took it upon themselves to kill innocents. Many of these folks were excited to kill people. Hell, they joined the Marine Corps, primarily, to kill people.

After I had my first “confirmed kill,” I felt immediate remorse. On a patrol, I accidentally shot a .203 grenade into a hut filled with two young girls. I don’t know what happened to the girls because we were traveling at a high rate of speed, but there as immediate guilt. From what I’ve been told, PTSD literally changes the composition of the brain. It alters its structure and functioning capacities. In that way, it’s a very real physical-ailment, although one that does not display identifiable scars. For me, I like the term “moral injury.”

11. Why?

Moral injury deals with the reasons for going to war and why we were there, which play an important role in how veterans process their experiences. In other words, killing someone is always traumatic, for some, more than others, but traumatic nonetheless. It becomes more traumatic when you realize that you’ve been killing people for KBR, Halliburton and Exxon Mobile. That’s where the PTSD/Moral Injury comes into play.

I talk about this with my antiwar veteran friends all the time and we haven’t come up with any definitive answers, but we have ideas and questions. Most importantly, as I said before, would we be this traumatized if we had killed someone trying to break into our home? In other words, is the “act of killing” the trauma? or is it the social-political context in which the killing takes place? I tend to assume it’s the latter, but who knows?

12. Where are we now, in time, and what was going on for you?

My entire world was being flipped upside-down around 2004/2005. As I mentioned before, Michael Moore’s movie had a profound impact on  my worldview. The first half of our second deployment, so, basically August 2004 through December 2004, was spent conducting routine missions, without many casualties. Interestingly, the unit we replaced told us to avoid patrolling in the local areas because the locals hated our presence. In response, our unit’s commanders told us, “The unit before you came let you down by not fulfilling its duties. Now, we’re going to have to pick up the slack and work twice as hard and conduct twice as many missions!” At the time, I thought these people were just nuts. In hindsight, I think they had very material interests. Everyone knows that war is big business, sure. But for the officers, it’s more than that. It’s their entire life and identity. It’s easier to gain respect and rank in the Marine Corps if one has been “in the shit” (combat). The more missions, the more heroic one is considered.

In early 2005, my best friend at the time was killed during an ambush. Before that particular patrol, my friend was reading passages from the Bible to several of our platoon-mates. By the end of the ambush, we came across a bunker with two bodies; they were young Iraqi men. And they were reading the Koran. The sick and twisted irony of that moment rattled my sanity for many years to come.

Several days later, we came across three men who were in the midst of setting up an IED on the road. The HUMVEE I was in crashed in a drainage ditch, incapacitating the turret-gunner and injuring both myself and the driver. After shaking off the confusion, I saw that one man was still loose and running. I chased him to another drainage ditch and emptied my magazine of rounds in his direction. Turns out, he didn’t even have a weapon on him.

When someone else came up to check the body with a flashlight, I delivered one more round go just to make sure he was dead—not because I was mad, or angry, or vengeful, but because I was frightened and gushing with adrenaline.

The horror stories could go on, but those particular visceral experiences had the biggest impact on me. Losing my best friend and taking an unarmed man’s life in close proximity undoubtedly reinforced the notion that the war was completely mad and unjust.

Here I was, a somewhat conscious Marine, still taking innocent peoples’ lives. I thought about that dynamic for many years. What scares me, still, even today, is the fact that killing someone is possibly the greatest adrenaline rush one could ever experience. Even my most adamant antiwar-veteran-friends struggle with constant violent impulses, tendencies, dreams and thoughts. It’s a constant challenge for many of us. In some ways, activism has served as a way to constructively deal with my PTSD, although I didn’t start doing the work for that reason. I was angry. And I knew the only way for me to deal with that anger, was to direct it at those who were in power.

13. Why do you think you changed in the manner you describe, whereas many others did not? What factors, writ large, do you think contour people’s perspectives and inclinations, so that then various idiosyncratic experiences can cause them to become radical, or, in other cases, have no effect? In a sense, then, what is it that organizing has to accomplish to reach people and yield changes in their views and agendas?

Looking back, what interests me the most, is the fact that so many of the people I served with continue to defend “the mission,” whereas they were quite critical during their deployments. In other words, it was not out of the ordinary for me, or someone else, to say, back when we were in it, “Hey, this war is bullshit and we’re doing a lot of harm to these people.” The common response would be, “Shut the fuck up Emanuele; everyone knows that; we just want to go home in one piece.”

Several folks from the platoon “get it,” but it’s a small fraction of those I served with. I guess I’ve always assumed that it’s much easier to come home and realize that your friends are dead and you’ve killed, tortured and mutilated innocent people for a “just cause.” It’s much harder to come home and realize that all of those actions were for the benefit of American geopolitical interests and multinational corporations. That’s a tough pill to swallow, especially for someone with severe PTSD, TBI, and so on. It’s easier to come home and be considered a “hero,” even if that label doesn’t jive with one’s personal experiences; it holds social capital.

14. There is more logic, from the point of view of war making and silencing criticism than people realize in the massive campaigns to treat soldiers, per se, as heroes?

This might be the single-greatest ideological challenge for activists in the U.S.: challenging military-hero-worship and the automatic praise of veterans and so on. Year after year, the US military is ranked as the most respected institution in American society. It’s the greatest trick ever played on the antiwar movement—the notion that they must defend themselves and prove that they’re “pro-troops.” It’s ridiculous. But it’s effective. And we see that things haven’t really changed much since 9/11.

The recent film “American Sniper” has broken all records at the box office. It is the highest grossing American war film of all time. I’ve read dozens of articles on Chris Kyle and the phenomena of “American Sniper,” but I haven’t learned much from those articles. Essentially, we must challenge American nationalism and exceptionalism. We must explain, clearly, why the US is an empire, how it’s functioned throughout time and what it’s doing now. Until we directly challenge the notion that the US is a special nation, with a special history, I think such myths will persist, and in some cases, maybe even grow, as is the case with Chris Kyle.

As I mentioned before, it’s hard to take a serious and radical political position in today’s society, especially as a veteran. Without doubt, veterans are expected to come home and “tow-the-line.” People don’t expect a veteran to ask them why they feel inclined to say “thanks for your service.” That made the process of coming home quite difficult. It’s a lot easier to criticize US actions abroad in 2015 than it was in 2006. Back then, people were still driving around with yellow ribbons on their bumpers and the entire hyper-patriotic element was strong.

15. Sadly, I think may be even harder for a soldier to dissent now. Because then it was a battle, at least, whether one would be silent, but now, it is just presumed…

Perhaps, but in any event, I think the social-capital I mentioned is a very important factor. If one can find people who generally agree with their values, it’s easy to express said values. But when one is surrounded by people who don’t share similar values, the process can be difficult because everyone wants to be accepted in one way or another.

It was easy for me to initially get involved, and it’s been easy for me to stay involved: I have a tremendous support network. My family, friends, coworkers and some former platoon-mates provide the foundation for my work. Without their help, understanding and love I would not be able to engage in this work. For me, it’s that simple.

But most people are not encouraged to raise their voices, particularly in tough economic times. A good portion of my friends are just happy to have a job and a place to live. The idea of “rocking the boat” is totally out of the question as they see such activities as dangerous. I ask this question to my friends and family all the time. If I can’t get them to be involved on a serious level, how can I expect to do so with strangers?

16. It is amazing how few on the left ask or feel that burning question. How do you feel you have done?

My success as an organizer has been mixed. Some of my friends and family have become increasingly involved and concerned with political issues. Some have totally rejected my positions and refuse to speak with me, not because of a personal spat but primarily because they don’t want to have discussions about these issues. Those who refuse to get involved often tell me that they don’t see the point because everything seems to be getting worse. Some of my friends are turned-off by leftist culture and organizing practices. Some of my friends will never be “involved,” at least not for the time being.

I spend time with a lot of different folks who come from many different backgrounds. In short, I’m not surrounded by activists or leftists, and while that can be frustrating at times, I’ve found it to be quite grounding and useful, as I’m forced to interact and better understand those who aren’t already involved.

I’ve seen people shift in their thinking quite a bit over the past eight years, even here in Northwest Indiana. Plenty of people know things are screwed up. They live it. They inherently understand this dynamic. Hence the reason we can get close to 75 people to show up to an “Occupy” event in Chesterton, Indiana. Obviously, some people have a grasp of what’s happening, and not because the “left” is organizing them, but because they’ve come to these conclusions on their own, or through their personal relationships.

Nonetheless, I’ve watched as personal friends have become more radical, showed up to more events and asked more questions and had more reflections as time has gone on. The next step is getting people active, moving and organizing. I’m encountering less and less people who wish to defend the status-quo, but few who are willing or ready to organize. But again, I didn’t understand what organizing meant until four years after becoming conscious.

17. Having become active, what kinds of things were you involved in? How did your views change, either of your past, or of the efficacy and logic of being activist?

Immediately, I joined Iraq Veterans Against the War and Veterans for Peace. During that time, my first actions were protests, fundraisers, media interviews and speaking engagements—tons of speaking engagements. I testified to the US Congress about war crimes in Iraq. We conducted street theatre actions around the country, including direct actions and acts of civil disobedience. All of those actions were primarily focused on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Then, IVAW shifted its focus to more campaign-orientated work. Here, I must say that we had very little mentorship from the older generation of antiwar activists. To me, it was a clear sign of how dysfunctional the antiwar movement must have been during the 60s, as we encountered very little worthwhile guidance and knowledge from that generation of activists. To be fair, they provided a lot of material support and networking connections, but in terms of strategy, tactics and vision, we found guidance from other movements and groups: Immokalee workers, former civil rights activists and so on.

Throughout the years, I’ve had the chance to work with various groups. I was involved with Occupy; I was in Madison, Wisconsin; and recently I was in Ferguson. All of those movements/events morphed into different projects and movements, including anti-eviction campaigns, the mental health movement, environmental struggles, student campaigns, BDS, artistic and cultural projects, documentary films and so on. Again, I’ve been very, very lucky to have had such amazing opportunities as an activist. Really, I’ve been fortunate. There’s not a lot of people who are able to access the resources and people I’ve been able to at such an early point in my work. Just in the last few years, I’ve been to Australia three times. Once to promote a documentary film I was in, and twice for month-long speaking engagements where I was able to work with aboriginal activists, antiwar organizers and the former Prime Minister of Australia, Malcolm Fraiser. Because I’m a combat-veteran, I’ve always had the ability to interact with many different layers of society. Coincidentally, the very thing I’m protesting also allows me great opportunities.

Throughout the years, I’ve had the chance to work with various groups. I was involved with Occupy; I was in Madison, Wisconsin; and recently I was in Ferguson. All of those movements/events morphed into different projects and movements, including anti-eviction campaigns, the mental health movement, environmental struggles, student campaigns, BDS, artistic and cultural projects, documentary films and so on. Again, I’ve been very, very lucky to have had such amazing opportunities as an activist. Really, I’ve been fortunate. There’s not a lot of people who are able to access the resources and people I’ve been able to at such an early point in my work. Just in the last few years, I’ve been to Australia three times. Once to promote a documentary film I was in, and twice for month-long speaking engagements where I was able to work with aboriginal activists, antiwar organizers and the former Prime Minister of Australia, Malcolm Fraiser. Because I’m a combat-veteran, I’ve always had the ability to interact with many different layers of society. Coincidentally, the very thing I’m protesting also allows me great opportunities.

Personally, I started out with a very basic critique of the war in Iraq. But that critique expanded as time went on. Many of the people I was reading at the time, Noam Chomsky, Cornel West, Howard Zinn, Chalmers Johnson, also provided a much broader critique than just the war in Iraq. Through reading I began to understand the inherent connection between war and capitalism. I started to view the US as an empire, not a regular nation-state. I learned that the war in Iraq was not “a mistake,” but, rather, the latest example of an empire hell bent on dominating and controlling every-last-inch of the planet. I learned that this process was 400 years in the making. I started to understand and contextualize my subjective experiences with objective data and knowledge. This process helped me better understand that what I had participated in was not special in terms of American history.

Then, I started taking college classes. Reading about the history of Western Civilization helped me further understand the long imperial history of the West: colonialism, imperialism and neoliberal exploitation. I started to read more about ecology and the media. My good friend, Professor Kim Scipes, who I coincidentally met at Purdue North Central, but whose wife was a close ally of IVAW, started pressuring me to learn more about these topics, so I took a couple of his classes and began studying on my own. This led me to people like Robert McChesney, John Bellamy Foster, Derrick Jensen, Arundhati Roy, Naomi Klein, Vandana Shiva, John Pilger, and many others. Looking back, this time-period played a significant role in my activism, as I started to think about the intersectionality of race, gender, class, militarism and ecology.

My views constantly changed. I started off as a liberal who was absentee-ballot voting for John Kerry in 2004, to someone who now believes Industrial Civilization is inherently unsustainable and that the world needs to collectively abolish this culture’s dominant institutions and replace them with institutions that actually serve the interests of the living-world, not capital and death. So much happened during that process. But I’m looking forward to growing more. I don’t want to be stagnant. I try to keep challenging myself intellectually and politically. I like to expose myself to as much as humanly possible.

Right now, I’m reading a book called Technics and Civilization by Lewis Mumford. It’s amazing. I originally heard about Mumford through David Harvey’s work, then again through Jensen’s. Writers and thinkers like Mumford force me to think about issues in different ways. I think it’s important to constantly challenge yourself as an activist. Sometimes people get comfortable and lazy in their thoughts and actions. A lot of activists think they’ve “got it figured out,” and that everyone else is late to the party. Obviously, that’s not the case.

18. What are your impressions of the strengths and weaknesses of movements and projects you have experienced? I am looking for things that aren’t unique to a single case, but which you think are typical and widespread, and thus consequential for the whole left. Does the left, in your experience, prioritize doing what might actually reach people and galvanize new support, or not, and, if not, why not, do you think?

I largely agree with a recent piece you wrote for TeleSUR English, entitled “Priorities,” in which you critique the left for not spending enough time developing vision, values, strategy and program. Here, I think we can make broad statements about the left and by the left I mean groups that organize, openly against capitalism, empire and/or ecological collapse. In my experience, liberal groups are much better at actually organizing communities and winning campaigns, meaningful reforms and legislative victories. Meanwhile, the left, while having a much more complex and useful analysis, does not, or has not, recently at least, successfully organized communities. The indigenous groups are leading the environmental battle, not Marxists or Anarchists. Some of those indigenous activists might consider themselves to be Anarchists or Marxists, but that’s a rare thing.

From a different angle, the same is true with the minimum wage campaigns. Most of those groups are liberal-community groups who represent communities of color. Two months ago, I gave a speech at one of their indoor rallies; there were well over 600 people in attendance. The place was jam-packed. Almost all of those in attendance were black or brown. Very few of the Chicago lefties I usually see at events were there. Why? Well, they don’t have a say-so in the day-to-day organizing of these groups. They’re not the ones who are in leadership positions in these organizations. Most of the lefties don’t live in the neighborhoods where these activists live.

Look, really, I think the best way to put this is to say that lefties are not good in social circles. And social circles is what activism and organizing is all about. If you can’t talk to working-class and poor people, then you’re a useless organizer. Some people can be trained, but others can’t. And that’s fine. Everyone has different roles. Not everyone has to be out in the streets or at events speaking with people. But we need more people who can, because right now, the left has tons of analysts, writers, thinkers, intellectuals, editors, directors, musicians, and so on, but very few organizers. One of my best friends, Roberto Clacke, who organizes with the Restaurant Opportunities Center, and formerly with the Metropolitan Tenants Organization, symbolizes what a true “organizer” should be.

I make a clear distinction between an organizer and an activist. A lot of people are activists: writers, fundraisers, protestors, and so on. But, again, very few people are organizers. Very few people actually develop strategies, tactics and visions for the future. Some intellectuals will do the vision portion, but not strategy or tactics. We need more people who are willing to talk about those things. Like you, I spend a ridiculous amount of time reading online articles, magazine publications and books. I can name you 200 authors off the top of my head who can provide amazing critiques of what’s happening in the world today. I can’t name you a dozen who are providing worthwhile material surrounding vision, strategy, tactics or program. Those who do, unfortunately, are often connected with sectarian groups that do more harm than good.

Often, the left operates in a bubble. And I don’t think the internet helps, because the internet allows people to live in their own little realities, without having to interact or engage with people who think differently. That’s very problematic. I think the left, including myself, needs to drop our pretentious attitudes. I try my best to put that stuff aside, but it’s understandable that organizing can be frustrating. Many leftists do not spend time outside of activist and academic circles. That must change. I also think the left basically exists on the coasts. Very few people from the Midwest get much recognition for their efforts and yet two of the major protest movements of my time, anti-policing/racist (Ferguson) and pro-labor (Madison), were born in the Midwest.

My advice would be for leftists to learn how to operate in uncomfortable social situations. Hang out in places that you’re not comfortable hanging out in. Talk with people you wouldn’t otherwise talk to. And let’s stop with the constant badgering of what “mindless” Americans do every-single-day. I’m more than guilty of this sort of behavior, but I’ve recognized it and am starting to change it. It’s true that people watch a lot of sports. It’s also true that people watch too much TV and play too many video games. That’s without question. But people also take a lot of drugs in our society. Why do people do these things? Because they’re alienated, depressed and simply hoping to make it through another day. They don’t need another person telling them that they’re inadequate.

However, we must also be willing and able to challenge people. For instance, I’ll tell my friends, look, I’ll come over and watch football with you, but you’re giving me three hours of your time next week when I have to set up this event. Or, hey, I’ll watch this absurd film with you, but afterward we’re talking about how and why it reinforces gender stereotypes. Things like that. I give my friends and family a lot of books and documentaries. These days, people love film and video clips. Why not use those tools? I wish people read more as well, but that’s not going to happen anytime soon, so why complain when we can be looking for alternatives? People always ask me, “I know you guys are against this, or that, but what are you guys fighting for?” Many times, I don’t have an answer as many groups don’t have a serious and strategic vision. Then, people are going to want to know what sort of tactics are going to be used to achieve such ends.

I once heard Derrick Jensen say, “Whatever your talent is, use it to defend the land and people around you.” This is one of the best sayings I’ve been able to use when trying to get people involved. I ask them, “What do you like to do? What are your talents? What are your interests?” Whatever they tell me, I usually say, “Well, use those unique talents to fight for whatever issue or issues you care about.”