Neoliberal Capitalism, Political Repression As Discipline, and The

Home , Puppets (module), Tactical frivolity

Jennifer D. Grubbs

2015

REPRESSION AS DISCIPLINE, AND THE SPECTACLE OF DIRECT ACTION

Jennifer D. Grubbs

ABSTRACT

The following analysis forges an innovative and interdisciplinary bridge between theory and practice that brings together an anthropological lens emphasizing local modes of knowledge, a communication lens underscoring rhetoric and environmental communication, and a digital media lens that stresses social media and e-communities.

Through a mixed-methodology of critical discourse analysis, ethnography and performance studies, this project examines the ways in which anarchist antispeciesists co- construct and negotiate identity and power within physical and digital communities through disidentification. The project relied on a strong commitment to collaborative engagement with the research population and a queer disengagement with traditional social movement theories to expand the political imaginary through political theater.

Activists utilize performative protest as both a methodology to disrupt hegemonic speciesism and also a playful solidification amongst politically repressed, geographically dispersed, oftentimes clandestine non-State actors.

ii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The following project would not have been possible without the dedication and support from Dr. Daniel Sayers, Dr. William L. Leap, and Dr. Stephen Depoe. I am grateful for their theoretical guidance, their willingness to invest time and energy in my scholarship, and their confidence in my ability to succeed. I am eternally grateful to my mother, who provided countless hours of childcare while I typed away in my office. I am humbled by the community of anarchist antispeciesists that risk it all for the liberation of all beings. I am inspired, intrigued, and energized by their resolve and I am encouraged by the potentiality for change. Lastly, I express my gratitude to my family for their patience and understanding while I was absent from their adventures to complete the project. My partner and source of encouragement, I would choose you again and again.

My beautiful daughters, Emory and Simon, let my sleepless nights and relentless efforts remind you that your worth is your own, and that obstacles are but merely triumphs in the works. And let the revolutionaries described in these pages remind you that if there is oppression, there must be resistance.

iii TABLE OF CONTENTS

ABSTRACT

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

CHAPTER ONE: INTRODUCTION...... 1

CHAPTER TWO: METHOD...... 33

CHAPTER THREE: ETHNOGRAPHY ...... 60

CHAPTER FOUR: NEOLIBERAL CAPITALISM AND CONSTRUCTING

THE ECOTERRORIST...... 134

CHAPTER FIVE: DIRECT ACTION AS SPECTACLE ...... 160

CHAPTER SIX: DIALECTICAL DISCIPLINE AND PERFORMATIVE

POWER ...... 197

CHAPTER SEVEN: CONCLUSION ...... 240

APPENDICES ...... 254

REFERENCES ...... 277

iv CHAPTER ONE

INTRODUCTION

Baby, what’s that confused look in your eyes? What I’m trying to say is that I burn down buildings while you sit on a shelf inside of them. You call the cops on the looters and piethrowers. They call it class war, I call it co-conspirators. ‘Cause baby, I’m an anarchist…You watched in awe at the red, white, and blue on the fourth of July. While those fireworks were exploding, I was burning that fucker and stringing my black flag high…You have faith in the elephant and jackass, and to you, solidarity’s a four-letter word… ‘Cause baby, I’m an anarchist, you’re a spineless liberal. We marched together for the eight-hour day and held hands in the streets of Seattle, but when it came time to throw bricks through that Starbucks window, you left me all alone. [Against Me! 2002]

This project examined the ways in which anarchist antispeciesists in the animal and earth liberation movements (AELM) in North America, as an example of leftist social movements, queer [rearticulate and reconfigure] traditional forms of protest through their oppositional articulations and resistance to constructed social and ecological hierarchy12.

The project will further interrogate the mechanisms of repression deployed by the State-

Corporate Industrial Complex to silence anarchist antispeciesists through the construction of the ecoterrorist. Anarchist antispeciesists advocate an intersectional analysis of the exploitation and commodification of beings and ecologies within capitalism, the State,

1. There is significant overlap in philosophy and tactic between the two movements, thus the following analysis will refer to them as one movement. The conflation has been made by many activists and scholars throughout the movement’s history (Nocella and Best 2004; Loadenthal 2010).

2. The application of queer theory and queer linguistics is discussed later in the chapter, as well as in Chapter Two: Method and Chapter Three: Ethnography.

1 paradigms of power, and speciesism3 (Foreman 1993:27; Rosebraugh 2004:120). In order to gain an in-depth understanding of this subset of leftist resistance, I conducted a multi- sited, multifaceted ethnography of the decentralized, clandestine movement for 18 months. The methodological and theoretical framework was built on the anthropological understandings of standpoint theory and the value of studying up (Nader 1972; Naples

2003).4 Through an emphasis on individual standpoints and performativity, I engaged in participant-observation during demonstrations, convergences, general assemblies, and legal proceedings. The following project utilized ethnography as an anthropological method to connect local modes of knowing with larger, structural and ideological issues of power through performativity.

Anthropological literature on social movements emphasizes political positionality within normative party categories such as: republican, democrat, libertarian, moderate, conservative, and liberal (Hodges 2011). This analysis, however, adopted a queer understanding of direct action and activist identity that is based on tactic in combination with political positionality5. Queer, as both a concept and framework, provides a productive epistemology to examine the ways in which activists both destabalize and rearticulate the State’s repressive paradigm of good versus bad through performance.

Specifically:

3. The term speciesism, coined by Richard Ryder in 1973, is used to describe the systematic privileging of the constructed category human over the constructed category animal (Singer 1977:7).

4. This project solely uses Nader’s concept of studying up and strongly disassociates with her history of problematic interactions with critical anthropologists. Without giving credence to her dismissive treatment of queer anthropologists, I have fractured studying up and do not align myself in any sort of trajectory of her scholarship.

5. Direct action is not defined solely by the physical act, but also the ideological underpinnings and symbolic meaning the act represents. Thus it is not a label of tactic demarcation, but rather it is an inclusive framework to conceptualize activism (Graeber 2009b:210; Thompson 2010:57).

2 Eve Sedgwick’s recent reflection on queer performativity ask us not only to consider how a certain theory of speech acts applies to queer practices, but how it is that “queering” persists as a defining moment of performativity. The centrality of the marriage ceremony in J.L. Austin’s examples of performativity suggests that the heterosexualization of the social bond is the paradigmatic form for those speech acts which bring which bring about what they name. “I pronounce you…” puts into effect the relation that it names. But where and when does such a performative draw its force, and what happens to the performative when its purpose is precisely to undo the presumptive force of the heterosexual ceremonial? …The performative is thus one domain in which power acts as a discourse…The term “queer” emerges as an interpellation that raises the question of the status of force and opposition, of stability and variability, within performativity. The term “queer” has operated as one linguistic practice whose purpose has been the shaming of the subject it names or, rather, the producing of a subject through that shaming interpellation.”

The deployment of queer as a liberal binary of assimilation and transgression, however, has also called into question the contradictions and complicities that warrant reflection

(Puar 2007:24). The potentiality of a queer inquiry is expanded through reflexivity and the creative rearticulation of what constitutes “assimilation” and “transgression.”

The research population, anarchist antispeciesists, is constituted by individuals that are geographically dispersed throughout North America, and politically overlap and diverge on particular campaigns, and do not cohesively self-identify as anarchists or antispeciesists. The population is unifyingly distinct, however, in its use of confrontational direct action such as: undercover video investigation, harassment, sabotage, physical blockades, property destruction, and demonstrations. The tactics challenge neoliberalism, capitalism, speciesism, and State authority. I focused on the activists’ strategies and tactics as a primary indicator in selecting research participants.

The first stage of research involved participant-observation in Washington, D.C. with leftist activists from November 2012-January 2013. The second stage of research overlapped slightly with the first stage in which I gathered ethnographic data in Toronto,

3 Canada with the anarchist collective Marineland Animal Defense (MAD) from April

2013-August 2014. Throughout the ethnographic data collection time period (March

2013- August 2014) includes several anarchist antispeciesist collectives (campaigns and monikers) including: DARTT, MAD, The Bunny Alliance, Resistance Ecology, Earth

First!, Animal Liberation Front (ALF), the Earth Liberation Front (ELF), and 269Life.

The project expands on three anthropological areas: neoliberal capitalism, direct action as spectacle, and political repression and punishment. I interrogated how neoliberal capitalism functions to manipulate State authority and how leftist activists resist through confrontational direct action.

PROBLEM STATEMENT

The ethnographic study focused on the AELM and provides an in-depth analysis of an understudied area of anthropology. Despite a vast anthropological literature on environmental advocacy, animal welfare, and social movements, there lacks an anthropological discourse on liberation and confrontational tactics. Further, the use of ethnography as method provides an in-depth tool to examine the everyday ways of knowing within these leftist circles to, “…diminish the exoticism rampant in anthropology (all that magic, all that ritual and scarification taken out of context) by focusing upon (accepting) the everyday...” (Rapport and Overing 2002:373). There is a growing discourse within anthropology regarding the role of neoliberal social structures in naturalizing structural violence (Farmer 1996; Farmer 2004; Gusterson, Besteman, and

Ehrenreich 2009; Scheper-Hughes and Philippe I. Bourgois 2003). The contemporary moment, as elaborated on in Chapter Four: Neoliberal Capitalism and Constructing the

Ecoterrorist, examines the obfuscation of visible centralized sites of power through

4 globalization. The neoliberal reshaping of global capitalism and the nepotistic overlap between government and corporate entities facilitates the decentralization of corporations, ambiguous loci of accountability, and the façade of individual agency

(Leitner, Peck, and Sheppard 2006:3).

The decentralization of corporations negates accountability by creating an illusive web of interconnected international entities. With the increasing prevalence of lobby front groups and multinational conglomerates, the task of corporate-mapping and identifying a singular target has become increasingly difficult (Graeber 2009b:xii). It is difficult to identify a central site of government that can be held accountable for monitoring “the market,” let alone a singular regulatory body responsible for a single function within the market (Graeber 2009b:81). The abundance of regulatory groups and committees has meant the obfuscation of actual regulation and accountability.

Globalization has increased that terrain through the global borders that place further restrictions on who and what laws can apply to the market, depending on its location.

Neoliberal capitalism facilitates the reconceptualization of sovereignty to include corporations as a global power with State protection. Contemporary legislation anthropomorphizes corporations and awards a protected status similar to those awarded minorities in Hate Crime Legislation (Lovitz 2010). The transformation of corporations into sovereign entities was naturalized through the process that Althusser terms

5 Ideological State Apparatus (Althusser 1971). Ideology, a process both reinforced and reified “upward” and “downward,” reproduces the conditions and the means of production (Althusser 1971:132–134). The state enforces its sovereign power through different forms of the Repressive State Apparatus (consent is gained coercively upon threat of violence) whereas the Ideological State Apparatus is a more neutralized site of power. Schools, religion, family units, and arguably, the media- are larger Ideological

State Apparatus’ that use subtle and discrete ways to garner hegemonic consent by framing legislation as vanguard rather than profit and power motivated6.

Although the U.S. government still maintains a [neoliberal] performance of democracy, corporations operate as the exception through “corporate sovereignty” (Ong

2006:7). The term corporate sovereignty refers to the exceptional status of capitalist entities awarded through the deregulation of industry and hyper-regulation of public scrutiny (Lovitz 2010:38). The corporate sovereignty granted to animal industries is affirmed through activist repression such as surveillance, harassment, arrest, and subsequent prosecution. The public “Green Scare” campaign unveils the sovereign powers of animal industries, and attempts to promulgate the fragmentation of activists through fear (Potter 2011:178). Within speciesist capitalism, the animal body is brutally dismembered through the processes of commodification while the perpetrators of violence are granted impunity by lack of industry regulations. Speciesism permits a

6. Although contemporary discussions of sovereignty take issue with Althusser’s assertion that State power manifests in centralized sites, I argue that neoliberal capitalism creates the façade of dispersed, fragmented sites of power. Ultimately, the Corporate-State Industrial Complex does monopolize institutionalized power in centralized sites. Thus, Althusser provides a useful way to understand the essential functioning (production and reproduction) of power ultimately lies in distilled concentrations that are veiled by the appearance of agency via neoliberalism (Butler 1997:110, 117–129; Holtzhausen 2013:50–51, 225).

6 naturalized sovereign power over animal bodies, and recreates a discourse of justice around penalizing animal liberators. George Lakoff synthesizes how “terrorism” and

“evil” are articulated within the frames of metaphor (Lakoff 2001:3). The reappropriation of terrorism rhetoric through the metaphor of ecoterrorism demonstrates the wide scope of repression targeting the animal and earth liberation movement (Liddick 2006:102).

Critical anthropologists have focused on how these discourses of “terrorism” and “war” are used to silence dissent (Price 2004:25). Patricia Dunmire and INCITE! Women of

Color Against Violence expanded on the dichotomization of individuals as “good/bad activist” through the State’s use of metaphor in the construction of “victims/terrorists”

(Dunmire 2011:61; INCITE! Women of Color Against Violence 2009). The trials of liberation activists including Eric McDavid, Daniel McGowan, and Walter Bond all relied on the use of terrorism rhetoric to convict the activists as ecoterrorists. The public trials reinforced the repressive conflation of activism and terrorism, and affirm the sovereignty of agri-vivisection industries.

Anthropologists have engaged State sovereignty as it pertains to various layers of governmentality. Sovereign power is the central, often unrecognized, underside of modern/liberal forms of codified/regulated government, whereas de facto sovereignty is the ability to kill, punish, and discipline with impunity (Hansen and Stepputat 2006:297).

The body is always the site of the performance of sovereign power, and this performance is most visible during states of war, marginality, extreme conditions, and fragmentations.

Giorgio Agamben’s idea of the dual body of the citizen—the citizen is an included body with rights because s/he is included in the greater political community but there is also a biological body, a life that can be stripped of symbolization and humanity and reduced to

7 “bare life” by a sovereign power (Agamben 1998:6). Agamben makes clear that we need to theorize the relationship between power and one’s bare life. This point contributes to the de facto sovereignty to place leftist activists under surveillance, in interrogation cells, and in solitary confinement within federal prisons.

Michele Foucault focused on the social functioning of power and it’s relationship to discipline throughout the shifting modes of State punishment. With the birth of the modern prison, Foucault argued there was a move away from monarchical punishment, the repression of a group through violent public performance (Foucault 1977:200).

Foucault believed there was both symbolic and physical significance within the body/soul divide during this shift from monarchical punishment to disciplinary power. The surveillance of activists represents a systematic disciplining of dissent. On the other hand, the targeted legislation, use of Federal Grand Juries, surveillance, and terrorist- enhancements represent an explicit coercive punishment more in line with monarchical power. The rhetoric of terrorism itself serves a disciplinary function to discourage dissent

(Herman and Chomsky 2002:155; Hoffman 2006:32; Lovitz 2010:109; Jackson et al.

2011:2). The combination of disciplinary conditions that activists engage in includes self- censorship of communication, clandestine operations rather than in networks, and a proliferation of “security culture” demonstrate an internalization of the panopticon.

However, coercive legislation such as the 2006 Animal Enterprise Terrorism Act and

State authority that protects neoliberal capitalism unveils the violent nature of political repression7. Direct action activists are publicly punished through Federal Grand Jury

8 subpoenas, home raids, government infiltrators, and terrorism enhancements. This dialectic of both disciplinary punishment and monarchical power represents a particular type of political repression targeting anarchist antispeciesists.

Communication scholars, Leslie Baxter and Barbara Montgomery, proposed the theory of relational dialectic to explain the presence of tension and contradiction within relationships between individual (Baxter 1988; Baxter and Montgomery 1996; Baxter

2010). The theory was based on the work of Mikhail Bakhtin that focused on the ways in which humans experience overlapping and contradicting needs within relationships through the concept of dialogism (Bakhtin 1982; Bakhtin 1984; Bakhtin 1986). Bakhtin argued that the dialectic of human experience is a dualism with centripetal and centrifugal forces that create tensions between unity and divergence (Bakhtin 1982).

Baxter and Montgomery expanded on this approach to understand the tensions within human relationships. For example, an individual may express to their partner the desire for space, while also communicating the need for intimacy. This tension is oftentimes captured in cinematized representations of heteronormative relationships where one person asks the other for space, but still expects them to contact them to maintain closeness. Baxter and Montgomery proposed four components within relational dialectics: contradictions, totality, process and praxis. Relational dialectic, within this logic, is interplay of sorts between behaviors and needs that are both unified and

7. The AETA is federal legislation that amends the 1992 Animal Enterprise Protection Act (Butler 1997:110, 117–129). It granted federal oversight to investigate, prosecute, and sentence crimes that were previously handled by each state. The AETA facilitates the use of grand juries in ecoterrorism trials, terrorist enhancements to increase prison terms and fines, and the placement of nonviolent activists in Communications Management Unit prisons. It also increased the existing penalties: allowing animal enterprises to seek financial restitution for the amount of financial damage inflicted (Potter 2011:131).

9 opposing, internalized and external. This project expands upon the ways in which confrontational tactics queer traditional modes of protest and create solidarity amongst activists facing political repression. The methodological framework, expanded in Chapter

2, provides a detailed discussion on how both performance studies and linguistic analysis to provide a valuable lens to interrogate the use of political theater to challenge structures of power.

STATEMENT OF PURPOSE

This project interrogated how activists engage in and articulate the use of direct action in both physical and digital spaces. The use of digital media, complementary to physical direct action, allow activists to organize, mobilize, engage in, and articulate the use of direct action before, after, and during an event. The available means and modes of protest to social actors in radical leftist movements threaten the hegemonic nature of disciplinary punishment. Activists engaged with direct action and utilized digital media as a means to challenge State surveillance and the role of security culture. The ethnographic data show how activists utilize a range of tactics, including political theater, to effectively challenge the State’s reliance on disciplinary punishment. In turn, activists resist disciplinary punishment by engaging in direct action as monarchical punishment.

The volley of political action and repression demonstrates a shift in power; perhaps solely in the realm of rhetorical power, that offsets the presumed powers of the State. The ethnographic data gathered examine how activists differentiate direct action from traditional forms of protest, how activists situate their strategic and tactical role in revolutionary change, and the ways in which activists respond to political repression and punishment. The State relies on the constructed binary of good protestor/bad protestor in

10 the construction of anarchist antispeciesists as ecoterrorists and assumes that activists will make the conscious decision to engage in mechanisms of dissent that fall within this dichotomy. Following Pêcheux (1982: 159), this analysis lends the possibility of a third type of protestor that is simultaneously engaging and disengaging with ideology as the process of interpellation of individuals as subjects. The third type of protest(or), through the refusal to submit to the State’s dichotomy of good versus bad protestor, work to create forms of disidentification outside of this framework. Through a reapproriated rhetoric of terrorism that is naturalized through neoliberal capitalism, the State engages in repressive acts by interpellating the disidentified third type of protest(or) into ecoterrorism.

Queering Subject Formation

Michel Pêcheux, a French philosopher, expanded Althusser’s theory of interpellation and subject formation with particular emphasis on the discursive functions of ideology. Pêcheux argued that there are three modalities in which the subject is constructed by ideological practices: “good subject,” “bad subject,” and

“disidentification” (Pêcheux 1982:158). The “good subject” freely consents or accepts through identification with the discursive and ideological forms. The discourse of the

“bad subject,” in contrast:

…the subject of enunciation ‘turns against’ the universal subject by ‘taking up a position’ which now consists of a separation (distantiation, doubt, interrogation, challenge, revolt…) which respect to what the ‘universal subject’ ‘gives him to think’: a struggle against ideological evidentness on the terrain of that evidentness, an evidentness with a negative sign, reversed in its own terrain. [Pêcheux 1982:157]

11 Pêcheux refered to the third modality, the type of modality invoked through anarchist antispeciesist direct action, as disidentification. The modality has been expanded upon by the Performance and Queer Theorist, José Esteban Muñoz, opts to resist and tries to reject:

…the images and identifactory sties offered by dominant ideology by reinforcing its dominance through controlled symmetry of “counterdetermination.” Disidentification neither opts to assimilate within such structure nor strictly oppose it; rather, it is a strategy that works on and against dominant ideology. [Muñoz 1999:11]

The three modalities, however, does not imply desubjectification in that to resist, reject or disidentify does not circumvent the reality that all individuals are always-already interpellated in processes of subject formation (Pêcheux 1982:90, 106). Queer linguistic anthropologist, William Leap, has utilized the concept of disidentification to examine what he calls a, “DC-based gay geography,” in so far as the:

…reconfiguration of the arrangements of sites in the sense detailed in conventional sources, the addition of imaginary features of the local gay terrain, the emphasis on movement and other first-person experiences to ensure that gay terrain has personalized meaning, as well as the references to disconnection. [Leap 2009:217]

This project follows in the vein of Muñoz and Leap with particular interest in how anarchist antispeciesists, “resist the social matrix of dominant publicity by exposing the rhetorical and ideological context of State power (Leap 2014:129; Muñoz 1999:168;

Muñoz 2009). Disidentification provides a useful extension of queer theory in the analysis of how anarchist antispeciesists engage in direct action despite the State’s acts of interpellation. The performative function of direct action facilitates disidentification not only for the activists, but also for the onlookers and targets of the actions themselves. In

12 this sense, queer is the verb that succinctly describes the rearticulation and reimagination of resistance to authoritarianism and speciesism.

Queer theory emerged in the realm of political activism in response to the constant conflation of sexuality and gender when discussed by feminists (Voss

2000:184). Sexuality studies, as a separate discipline, was emerging by the 1990’s, with the foundational texts including Eve Sedgwick’s Epistemology of the Closet (1990),

Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble (1990) and Bodies that Matter (1993), Teresa de Lauretis, and later, the many works of Judith (Jack) Halberstam 8. The years that followed, however, were plagued the practical challenge of maintaining the revolutionary potential of queer within the normative spaces of the academy wherein theory lie (Halperin

2003:341–342). Despite the contentious evolution of both the activist and academic deployment of queer, the term powerfully connotes questioning, challenging, and disrupting normative discursive practices. Anthropologist Sara Ahmed situates “the perverse” as a useful starting point for queer theorists, “…for thinking about the

‘disorientations’ of queer, and how it can contest not only heteronormative assumptions, but also social conventions and orthodoxies in general” (Ahmed 2006:78). This destabilization of normative categories that queering has been utilized by postmodern and poststructural theorists to challenge normativity that lies in, “…creating an always- contested and re-negotiated group identity based on difference from the norm- in other words, a postmodern version of identity politics” (Voss 2000:184).

8.The term queer theory has been credited to Teresa de Lauretis to serve as a conference title at the University of California, Santa Cruz in 1990. She had heard the term used by activists and knew it would de “deliberately disruptive” because of the provocative challenge the term made to lesbian and gay studies (Halperin 2003:340). The use of the term catapulted the already-published texts of Butler and Sedgwick to the forefront of the growing field.

13 Queer theorists posit that because of the destabilization of normativity that is not exclusive to sexuality or gender, the theory is accessible across disciplines and global spaces. Specifically, there has been an emergence of activists and scholars that are engaged in various projects of destabilization in the AELM. There has been a dramatic increase in the number of available conferences, activist convergences, academic publications, zines and leaflets, and other-than-human animal sanctuaries that in one way or another connect themselves to the political project of queering the boundaries of species (Activists Hold Conference in Support of “Queer Animal Liberation” |

Progressives Today n.d.; Harper 2010; jones 2006; Loadenthal 2011a; Mortimer-

Sandilands and Erickson 2010; Queering Animal Liberation n.d.). I served as a guest editor for the Journal for Critical Animal Studies and published the first journal issue dedicated to queer theory and activism. The introductory essay provides a snapshot of contemporary attempts to queer, rearticulate and reimagine through the act of destabilization, the boundaries of species:

It is inherently queer to disrupt the normative tropes of hierarchy that naturalize speciesism. Or is it? How queer is critical animal studies? If speciesism is the normative ideology, then anti-speciesist thought functions as a queer act within academia. Although a great deal has been written on queer thought and critical animal studies, these discussions primarily exist in isolation from one another. Thus, we, as critical animal studies scholars, should ask ourselves how critical thought itself is intercepted, co-opted, re-appropriated, and constrained to fit within a single-politic agenda. Further, we must interrogate the ways in which we are alienated from our colleagues and insurrectionary comrades who contribute to queer thought. The ability to collaborate between critical discourses and movements are impeded by the capital control of the Academy itself. Through a process of intellectual commodification, the ability to produce and consume critical thought is marked by privilege. The attributes used to demarcate critical thought from academic critical thought are marked by the capital value of thought itself. In the competition-driven neoliberal Academy, intellectual thought is constrained by a market-driven individualism. The following issue advances the destabalization of species privilege within a discourse of queer thought. Each author interrupts hegemonic understandings of

14 speciesism through a queer framework. This special issue of the journal provides a range of ways to think about the possibilities of a queer critical animal studies. [Grubbs 2012:4]

The following analysis reasserts the premise that it is not only inherently queer to challenge the species boundary of human and animal, but it is also a queer project for anarchist antispeciesists to engage in confrontational direct action as a disidentification of the State’s acts of interpellation.

The performativity of political action transgresses the boundaries of physical and virtual spaces through digital media. Screens always already mediate the frames in which individuals internally and externally make sense of their political realities. While attending a demonstration or convergence, activists engage in physical conversations which simultaneously engaging in digital communities through technological screens.

Thus, I maneuvered the disintegrating divide between physical and digital communication throughout the data collection period, and the following argument show that activists use digital spaces to also foster a physical sense of connectedness amongst geographically-fractured anarchist antispeciesists. Direct action challenges the State’s reliance on the punitive prison system through activist-run support websites that publish essays, raise funds, and disseminate updates on incarcerated political prisoners rely on.

Queering Political Theater

This project contextualized the use of political theater and play within history of subversion through exaggeration in drag performance as a queer mode of disidentification (Conquergood 2002; Goffman 1959; Muñoz 2009; Taylor 2003).

Activists engage in confrontational direct action, such as home demonstrations, to queer the paradigm of good versus bad protestor and to create disidentifactory thoughts through

15 the protest as a spectacle.9 Guy Debord of the Situationist International famously critiques “the spectacle” (Debord 1967). Debord argues that authentic social life has been replaced by mediated representation. We no longer relate as humans, but as commodities that are filtered, or mediated, through the confluence of capitalism, advanced technologies, and mass media. As Debord states, “the tangible world is replaced by a selection of images which exist above it, and which simultaneously impose themselves as the tangible par excellence”; the spectacle “is not a collection of images, but a social relationship among people, mediated by images" (Debord 1967:36, 74). The performative nature of direct action creates a spectacle that in turn creates what Kenneth Burke refers to as terministic screens within Irving Goffman’s metaphor of theater. Relying on the metaphor of a photograph to illustrate his concept of terministic screens, Burke explains,

“When I speak of “terministic screens,” I have a particularly in mind some photographs I once saw. They were different photographs of the same objects, the difference being that they were made with different color filters. Here something so “factual” as a photograph revealed notable distinctions in texture, and even in form, depending upon which color filter was used for the documentary description of the event being recorded” (Burke

1966:45). Terministic screens are comprised of a set of symbols that create a screen or framework through which the world makes sense. Burke adds:

Not only does the nature of our terms affect the nature of our observations, in the sense that the terms direct the attention to one field rather than another. Also, many of the “observations” are built on implications of the particular terminology in terms of which the observations are made…. much that we take as observations

9. I have expanded on this point in conference presentations and publications (Grubbs 2012d; Grubbs 2012c; Grubbs and Loadenthal 2013; Grubbs 2014a).

16 about “reality” may be but the spinning out of possibilities implicit in our particular choice of terms [Burke 1969:46]

Speciesism itself, for example, is naturalized through ISA’s and represented as spectacle through metaphor. The presentation of the human-over-animal hierarchy is depicted in movies, songs, commercials, billboards, political metaphors, and everyday sayings and practices. These representations (or screens) maintain and perpetuate both the idea and practice of exploiting animals for human use. In this sense, then, many humans relate to nonhuman animals as commodities, as mere representations of actual sentient creatures that have lives and existences of their own.

However, despite Debord’s persuasive critique of mediated society, the spectacle can be appropriated for positive and profound social change. According to social theorist

Stephen Duncombe (2007), media technologies are here to stay. Rather than shunning such technologies, activists must learn to critically appropriate those technologies in the service of progressive causes and liberatory practices. Media technologies not only are imprinted in daily existence, they also contain powerful tools for subversion (Shepard,

Bogad, and Duncombe 2008). Duncombe agrees that the overarching, dehumanizing spectacle, as described by Debord, must be critiqued and overturned. However, he also agrees that there are liberatory elements within the spectacle. Learning to tease out those elements can enable activists to disidentify, to create an alternative spectacle, one that teaches people to be reflective, ethical, conscientious, and active creators rather than passive consumers. For example, despite a primitivist resistance to technologies in the anarchist antispeciesist movement, activists have critically appropriated those technologies in the service of progressive causes and liberatory practices. Washington,

D.C.-based journalist, Will Potter, launched a Kickstarter campaign in response to

17 repressive legislation in six states that made it illegal to take photographs or video footage inside agri-vivisection industries (Potter 2014). Potter proposed purchasing drones to capture aerial footage of these industries as a way to reapproriate the technology primarily used within a context of State violence. It is within Duncombe’s framework that anarchist antispeciesists employ direct action strategies.

The home demonstrations are an attempt to amplify the problem (animal exploitation) and the motivation (profit) by creating an alternative spectacle (one based on truth-telling and the adoption of an ethical relation to nonhuman animals).

Demonstrators do this by creating a public performance. The demonstrators use their bullhorns to amplify their message and turn a public sidewalk into a public theatre. The power of the spectacle lies in its ability to demand attention and render abstract concepts into accessible courses of action. The method is both confrontational and invaluable. As

Jean Baudrillard states, “This is our theatre of cruelty, the only one left to us— extraordinary because it unites the most spectacular to the most provocative” (The Spirit,

2001, n.p.). The following project addressed the growing gap between anthropological discourses regarding political theater, theoretical critiques of neoliberalism and capitalism, and the specific use of direct action in the AELM. Although there are significant contributions within the field of anthropology to these areas separately, there remains a lacking discourse that weaves these areas together cohesively. The understudied population, anarchist antispeciesists, both theorizes and engages with anthropological theories of power and resistance. Thus, it is within the interest of producing relevant, contemporary critical scholarship to examine the population and the

18 changing terrain of political engagement and performativity through political terministic screens10.

CENTRAL RESEARCH QUESTIONS

The research was guided by a central research question: How is anarchist antispeciesist resistance strategized and actualized within the ideological, social and economic [super-] structures of the State and neoliberal capitalism, and how does such a positioning impact effective activism from the left? The project was further guided by a series of secondary questions that address key issues identified in the central research question. Under what conditions do anarchist antispeciesists engage in confrontational direct action? How do anarchist antispeciesists perceive their role in the AELM? In what ways do these activists articulate the State’s use of terrorism rhetoric to punish dissent challenging agri- vivisection industries? What are the mechanisms by which AEL dissent is repressed? In what ways do AEL and leftist activists, broadly, resist political repression? The research is dialectical through an ethnography that will study-up and focus on local, subjective experiences of activists, while interrogating how ideological, social and economic [super] structures of the State and neoliberal capitalism punish leftist activists.

OVERVIEW OF METHODOLOGY

There is great emphasis on ethics in research design within activist anthropology.

Specifically, anthropologists exercise reflexivity when measuring their potential impact on research subjects. Lila Abu-Lughod and Nancy Naples interrogate ethnographic

10. These concepts are explained and focused on in Chapter Five: Direct Action as Spectacle.

19 methods within the growing discourse of feminist anthropology, which have been adopted and expanded by many contemporary anthropologists. Abu-Lughod insists anthropologists utilize local modes of knowledge and expression, such as song and prose

(Abu-Lughod 2008; Abu-Lughod 2013). Activist ethnography incorporates flexibility and reflexivity into the research design. The uses of deductive ethnographic methods make space for alternative modes of expression rather than demarcate which modes are not visible. Naples provides a transparent manuscript detailing her experience with ethnography in various social justice movements. Feminist anthropological research has attempted to subvert traditional ways of knowing that perpetuate patriarchal assumptions about ‘truth’ and ‘objectivity’ (Naples 2003:15). Elly Teman’s ethnographic study that examined pregnancy and childbirth through the experiences of surrogates and intended mothers challenged the academic tendency to fracture empathy and compassion from anthropological research and infused this throughout her analysis of troublesome metaphors (Teman 2010:31–39) These anthropologists provided a useful framework to be applied in the examination of the relationship between political repression and the

State’s interpellation of anarchist antispeciesist use of direct action as disidentification through the construction of ecoterrorism. I attended demonstrations, fundraisers, convergences, and informal gatherings immersed in local modes of knowledge and expression. I kept extensive field notes of the observations, focusing on the ways in which activists perform their social and political location within anarchist anti-speciesist movements. The data includes visual observations (clothing, nonverbal communication, and social cliques), informal conversations with activists, and the chants, songs, call-and- returns, and proclamations delivered during demonstrations.

20 The use of activist ethnography facilitates a critical engagement with repression.

Rather than adopt a top-down approach, anthropologists such as Melissa Wright, Iris

Marion Young, Lila Abu-Lughod, and Nancy Naples implement a praxis approach to social justice research. Iris Marion Young reexamines the hegemonic construction of social justice as redistributive (Marion Young 1990). The interrogation of the distributive model facilitates the subsequent discussion of radical social restructuring. Anarchist antispeciesist confrontational direct action asserts that oppressive structures cannot be reformed into equitable structures. Young’s conceptualization of “rights” further complements the earth and animal liberation movement’s critiques of environmental and animal “rights” activism, “Rights are relationships, not things, they are institutionally defined rules specifying what people can do in relation to one another (Marion Young

1990:25). Young’s framework was useful to analyze the ways in which activists politically position themselves with non-confrontational and confrontational modes of activism. The data collected during demonstrations and informal conversations expands on how respondents articulate their use of either confrontational or non-confrontational protest.

The dissertation project is constituted by multi-sited and multi-focal participant- observation ethnography. The “field” remains a flexible construct, though I remained within North America. For the first component of research, I identified an anarchist antispeciesist collective in the Washington, D.C. area that actively engages in confrontational direct action. From March 2013-August 2013 I conducted a participant- observation ethnographic study by attending general assembly meetings, fundraisers, public events, and demonstrations with DARTT. I took extensive field notes, archived the

21 video footage taken by legal observers, and activists, and onlookers. The key organizers served as interlocutors that helped connect me with other organizers in various collectives, locally and nationally.

The second component of research involved data collection various anarchist antispeciesist collectives from March 2013-September 2014. Specifically, I traveled to

Toronto, Canada to attend the MAD Opening Day demonstrations in 2013 and 2014, spent two months in the Pacific Northwest United States and attended national convergences, and attended demonstrations with The Bunny Alliance throughout Ohio.

During the data collection period, I also relied on digital media to follow the use of social networking sites by activists. The anarchist collective, MAD, conducts an aggressive campaign targeting the sea animal amusement park Marineland and the park’s owner,

John Holer year round. I was in contact with the co-founder and organizer with

Marineland Animal Defense, Anonymous A, and he was an interlocutor for the activist community there. While in Toronto I relied on the snowball effect to interview anarchist antispeciesist activists in the area. The interviews were informal conversations and I did not use any recording devices. Their oral narratives provide a historical context of both political activism and political repression Linguist William Labov examined the ways in which in African Americans in the “inner city” utilize a well-formed set of rules that constitute African American Vernacular English (AAVE), and he argued it was a distinct dialect that ought to be included in larger discourses surrounding language (Labov 1972).

This politically important piece both validated and institutionalized what had previously been dismissed as slang. Anthropologist Charlotte Linde provided an intersectional bridge to examine how life stories are formed and told to co-construct our sense of self

22 (Linde 1993). Linguist Stephen Levinson provided a useful, pragmatic approach to the study of language in his insistence that the analyses of speech acts and the presentation of technical linguistic tools such as deixis and presupposition should be approachable

(Levinson 1983). The analysis focused on units of discourse that go beyond the unit of a sentence (Levinson 1983:18). The interviews and field notes collated a diverse range of life stories from activists, capturing the external social exchanges and the internal narratives (Linde 1993:51). I utilized Susan Hunston and Geoff Thompson’s framework to look for evaluative clauses that address the secondary research questions focused on how activists understand their activism in relation to the State (Hunston and Thompson

2001:2–25; Hunston 2002). Evaluation can be found anywhere in the ordered structural parts of the text, and will provide insight into how respondents perceive their activism in relation to anarchist antispeciesist movements. In effort to preserve local modes of knowledge and expression, and the subjectivities of the respondents, the data analysis focused on evaluation (Hunston and Thompson 2001:6). The demonstrations themselves follow an ordered structure with optional abstract statements that summarize the purpose of the demonstration, can offer evaluation, or serve an interactive function (Linde

1993:69). The demonstration proclamations and chants also include orientation, narrative clauses, and the coda to conclude the spectacle. There are distinctions made between the demonstrations carefully scripted and rehearsed and those spontaneously delivered without premeditation. The focus on narrative and evaluation within the corpus facilitates a rich anthropological discourse on social movements, subjectivities, and perceptions of

State repression.

23 Similar to how Motschenbacher (2010 as cited in Leap 2015) investigated normative discourses of gender and sexuality found in French and English translations in the Eurovision Song Competition (ESC), this analysis utilizes a queer linguistic approach to examine how anarchist antispeciesists engage in direct action as disidentification despite the repressive State acts of interpellation (Motschenbacher 2010:96–99; Leap

2015:665). The ethnographic description of events not only provide textured detail, but these lend particular value when analyzed through queer inquiry because they illuminate,

“…the conditions that lead the song-writers or performers to retain or suspend (or attempt to do both) normative authority of national linguistic tradition in such instances” (Leap

2015:665). Though this analysis does not focus on linguistic discrepancies between translations, nor does this analysis focus specifically on how anarchist antispeciesists use language to challenge normative discourses about sexuality or gender, the analysis falls within the linguistic trajectory of both queer linguistics and Critical Discourse Analysis because I am interested in how activists engage with, “…how language enables (at times disguises) the intersections of sexuality, gender, race, class, and other forms of social inequality” (Leap 2015:661). I am particularly interested in anarchist antispeciesist because of the intersectional interrogation of paradigms of power that address species.

The interrogation of social issues that follows was guided by the written, spoken, and performed texts of anarchist antispeciesist insofar that this inquiry, “…must be discourse centered, and that that the analysis of discourse must take the form of a critical inquiry; that is, it must engage, not obscure the conditions of the speakers’ experience as located within structures of power” (Leap 2015:661). Further, the analysis is antinormative in its aim to disrupt subject formation and interpellation through disidentification and fulfils

24 the themes of queer linguistics if we can extend these themes to address normative discourses of dissent:

…(1) the normative authority associated with sexual discourses, (2) the performative and metaphoric expressions of normative authority in discursive practice, (3) normative authority and institutional practices; and (4) the tensions between global vs. local voices expressing normative authority in everyday life (Leap 2015:676)

The methodological approach facilitated a queer inquiry, or queer(ey)ing of the use of direct action by anarchist antispeciesists to produce and reproduce disidentification in the face of State repression, as well as the State’s retaliatory interpellation of that disidentification through the construction of the ecoterrorist.

Throughout the ethnographic data collection I archived social media sites. The collectives rely heavily on social media sites to promote demonstrations, promulgate movement literature, and engage in anonymous debate. Because of the large number of clandestine activists in the movement, encrypted websites provide the invaluable ability to remain anonymous. I utilized the public information shared on Facebook, Twitter,

Instagram, Anarchist News, and DC Indymedia. These web pages remain public knowledge and thus provide a wide range of respondents. The performative function of political theater exists within digital realities constituted by screens, thus I relied heavily on the screens as a site of analysis. I participated in the digital realities by maintaining a

Facebook page, Twitter handle, Instagram account, and public blog. The accounts were integrated through hashtags, overlapping social networks, and similar account names11

11. Each account integrated three social markers: anarchist, vegan, and mother. Though the Facebook page is simply my name, I created an Instagram account and Twitter handle with the name AnarcaVegMama. I am the co-contributor to a blog hosted on WordPress called Thoughtsofapregnantvegan. These digital spaces were consistently mediated through various forms of contributions (images, repostings, video, and essays).

25 The data included ethnographic observations during demonstrations and general assemblies, thus I paid careful attention to the polysemy of the message (Fauconnier and

Turner 2003:112). Stuart Hall points to the issues of disconnect with message encoding and decoding in television, and argues that messages are always already interpretive (Hall

1980:173). The research interrogated the activists’ intention in the encoding process, but also the public audience’s role in the decoding process. The messages from the speech event are negotiated through performance and audience reception, “Importantly, repetition and subversion are not properties ‘of’ text but reflect the engagements of speakers and audiences with text production and reception…” (Leap 2011b:562). The sidewalk is the activist stage and can become a site of disidentification that can elicit disidentifcatory thoughts from the audience (Muñoz 2009:1–15). The ethnographic data will capture the tensions between intentionality and audience reception, which is an informative source of text for analysis (Hill 1995; Hill 2005:159) The data collected before, during, and after public events, such as a demonstration, will be analyzed for inconsistencies, tensions, consistencies, and cohesiveness in their responses. The transcripts of these public events will constitute the corpus. Preliminary research with the

DC-based animal liberation collective indicates several key words used in demonstrations: “you” “us” “animal” and “they.” I will look for the collations with these terms to examine how activists articulate their politics and positionality in relation to the targeted individual/corporation (Baker 2008:76). Through critical discourse analysis of the participant-observation ethnographic data and digital media, the following project addressed the ways in which activists attempt to recapitulate structures of power through direct action.

SIGNIFICANCE OF RESEARCH

Confrontational protests in Iceland, Portugal (Movimento 12 de Marco), Iran,

Bolivia, South Africa, Greece, Spain (Movimento 15-M), and throughout North America

(Occupy Movement) have challenged economic instability and injustice, government corruption, environmental degradation, privatization, and resource depletion, exploitation of labor, and diminishing sovereignty through global capitalism. Although the local contexts of each movement are unique, there is an international solidarity amongst non-

State actors publicly critiquing ideological, social, and economic [super] structures of the

State and capitalism. The confrontational tactics used, ranging from Twitter-organized demonstrations to occupying public spaces to puppet shows in Washington D.C.’s

Malcolm X Park, queer the ways in which resistance are articulated and actualized through public performance. The movements have been effective in [re] shaping public dialogue on the systemic imbalances of power and the effectiveness of confrontational modes of resistance. The successes of anarchist insurrectionary revolutions, however, have elicited violent and visible forms of political repression. Legislation introduced in

North America and throughout the United Kingdom rearticulates and reapproriate militaristic rhetoric to construct the metaphor of dissent as terrorism (Chomsky

2004:222).

There is a great deal of anthropological research on social movements, neoliberalism, capitalism, and political repression. There is a growing number of anthropologists doing engaged anthropology and adapting their classroom and field sites to the streets. David Graeber, Jeffrey Juris, David Nugent, Maple Razsa, and Andrej

Kurnik have written on the global communities within the Occupy Movement. American

27 Ethnologist devoted a 2012 issue to examining the intersections of social media, space, and direct action. However, the literature is often written by academics that do not participate in the movements. There is a need for an in-depth ethnography of leftist movements that study up from within the local context. This project will utilize my years of activism and personal connections to activists in leftist movements in North America. I will focus on the activists how knowledge is created and negotiated within smaller communities.

Traditional social movement research focuses on single-issue activism rather an intersectional activism that interrogates neoliberal capitalism, speciesism, and State authority. Leftist activism is dismissed within traditional anthropological discourses on dissent. Confrontational direct action is portrayed as reckless property destruction, misguided protest, non-unified and scattered demands, and delusional visions of utopic revolutionary change. Anthropologists further distance themselves from intersectional leftist activists through the valuation of single-issue activism. There is a great deal of

Marxist anthropology that focuses on communities challenging capitalism and how it manipulates workers, consumers, and further creates imbalances of power (Godelier

1977; Herman and Chomsky 2002; Mintz 1986; O’Laughlin 1975; Resnick and Wolff

1993). Environmental anthropologists have examined communities taking on governments and corporations that are privatizing resources, degrading ecosystems, and contributing to climate change (Haenn and Wilk 2005; Pine 2008). But these discourses exist within fractured literatures on social movements that construct them as individual entities rather than part in parcel to larger, coalitional networks. This project will emphasize how activists situate their campaigns within a coalitional of broader social

28 justice work. The research will fill a gap in the literature by providing anthropology of confrontational direct action that challenges neoliberal capitalism, speciesism, and State authority.

ROLE OF THE RESEARCHER

Critical anthropological scholarship is an inherently political act that is predicated on the subjectivities of the researcher(s) to reify or reimagine the lived realities of others.

The selection of research subject, participants, methodological tools, theoretical framework and analysis consistently place the principal investigator in an active role.

This project is a symbiotic extension of a larger political agenda to strengthen a praxis approach between the academic anthropological endeavor and activism. Specifically, the project developed out of personal activism within the AELM as a self-identified anarchist antispeciesist. The intimate relationship between the researcher and research participants not only provided rich ethnographic data, but the relationship also required transparency and reflexivity. Rather than solely be held to academic standards of rigor, the following project is held to the rigor of authenticity amongst my peers. The research design embraces this subjectivity as both honest and theoretically valuable, falling within a history of activist anthropologists that maintain personal and political commitments to the spaces in which they dually occupy as researcher and participant (Abu-Lughod 1990;

Chomsky et al. 1967; Chomsky 2012; Leap 1996; Leap and Boellstorff 2004; Wright

2006). Throughout the project, I placed myself within larger context of the demonstration, convergence, or exchange within digital media. In this sense, the role of the researcher is interwoven into the narratives included in the study, but not the central focus.

29 The project began with several key assumptions that were explored throughout the project. The preliminary research with DARTT addressed the rhetorical efficacy of political theater with regard to exposing the fallacies of neoliberalism. However, the preliminary research did not address the rhetorical efficacy of other forms of direct action or performativity. From the beginning of the project, I was a public figure within the

AELM and had participated in direct actions throughout the U.S. I had already established a social network of anarchist antispeciesists prior to this project that shared a similar political critique of constructed forms of privilege including (but not limited to) racism, classism, sexism, heterosexism, ableism, and speciesism. These assumptions remain part of the public performance of my own politics, and shaped my ability to penetrate the secure spaces of activists. The intellectual exercise of examining the efficacy of direct action used by anarchist antispeciesists is shaped by my personal interest in advancing the movement aims for radical social change. Thus, in the interest in advancing the movement aims, I was particularly motivated to apply academic rigor through praxis-based research. Rather than treat the data as a means to an academic end, each texts was contextualized and scrutinized to produce tangible knowledge that would advance radical social change.

The project fostered both academic and personal growth through an immersive participant-ethnography. The taken-for-granted interactions with colleagues and comrades were treated as text, turning intimate exchanges into written records that would later become part of the study. It is of note that my role within the movement also shifted in personal ways throughout the study. I began this research as a single cisgender woman in Washington, D.C. with a well-established record in both ecofeminist and anarchist

30 circles12. During the preliminary data collection, I met my partner and gave birth to our daughter, Emory, less than a year later. I became pregnant again in the middle of the data collection period for the study, and gave birth to our second daughter, Simon, two months before the MAD Opening Day demonstration in 2014. In the concluding months of data collection, I began to experience the isolation of raising children in radical leftist circles. I also began a full-time job in 2013, while also teaching a 2x2 course load as an adjunct instructor. The physical constraints on my body from pregnancy and childrearing oftentimes restricted my ability to travel for demonstrations and convergences as the study progressed. The economic constraints of maintaining employment also placed additional barriers to publicly engage in direct action, both because of the public nature of my job and the inability to take time off of work. Alas, these experiences shaped my structural analysis in the project through personal narratives that otherwise remain outside of academic discourses. It became an important political exercise to make space for these challenges that disproportionately marginalize women and mothers in the

Academy. Though in the interest of avoiding an Oscar speech similar to Patricia Arquette that attempts to have a white cisgender American woman cry ‘victim,’ I recognize the ways in which my experiences are shaped by privilege (Johnson 2015; Solomon 2015)

The role of the research must be to localize and utilize the structural privilege of

12. I have written extensively on the connections between gender, race, sexuality, and species through the lens of ecofeminism. The literature builds on the significant contributions from Carol Adams, Greta Gaard, Lori Gruen, Josephinne Donovan, and Marti Kheel. These women have served as both academic and personal influences on my scholarship and activism. I met each of these women at different points in my life and maintain a personal relationship with each of them, though Marti Kheel passed away in 2013. I have been an invited key note speaker to ecofeminist conferences organized by several of them as well as published in edited anthologies about the connections between gender and species exploitation (Adams and Donovan 1995; Adams 2004; Donovan and Adams 2007; Adams 2011; Gaard 1993; Gaard and Murphy 1998; Gaard, Estok, and Oppermann 2013; Kheel 2007; Grubbs 2011; Grubbs and Adams 2013).

31 institutionalized knowledge to produce scholarship that advances radical social change.

In this vein, the following project relies on the dialectic of political commitment and academic scrutiny.

The methodological framework, detailed in Chapter 2, reflects this commitment and establishes a transparent process of data collection and analysis. The ethnographic data throughout this project, distilled in Chapter 3, integrate personal vignettes and social media archives from the various campaigns, convergences, and collectives. The structural overlay between neoliberalism and capitalism and how it naturalizes the violent commodification of other species is teased out in Chapter 4, to establish the specific paradigms of power challenged by anarchist antispeciesists. The symbolic significance and revolutionary potential of political theater becomes paramount in Chapter 5 integrates the work of performance theorist, Irving Goffman, with the social theorist, Guy

Debord, to examine the rhetorical functions of direct action as spectacle. The fifth chapter examines the ways in which anarchist antispeciesists engage with and resist political repression through a contemporary (re)reading of Michele Foucault’s concept of disciplinary punishment. Specifically, I looked to federal investigations and surveillance, public trials and sentencing, and legislation that target leftist activism. Each chapter advances a critical engagement with anarchist antispeciesist direct action, State repression, and the performative ways in which activists resist. The project establishes a necessary praxis between anthropological discourses of power, activism, and the use of digital media to reimagine the potentiality for revolution in our physical realities.

32 CHAPTER TWO

METHOD

There is a certain lure to the spectacle of one queer standing onstage alone, with or without props, bend on the project of opening up a world of queer language, lyricism, perceptions, dreams, visions, aesthetics, and politics. Solo performance speaks to the reality of being queer at this particular moment. More than two decades into a devastating pandemic, with hate crimes and legislation aimed at queers and people of color institutionalized as state protocols, the act of performing and theatricalizing queerness in public takes on ever multiplying significance. [Muñoz 2009:1]

This chapter focuses on the methodological approaches used to both collect and analyze the data included in this study on anarchist antispeciesists in the AELM. These movements are comprised of many clandestine cells, lone wolf activists, and aboveground organizations that approach animal and earth liberation from different tactical standpoints that share a fundamental critique of hierarchical authoritarian institutions. The movements are not defined by established organizations, but rather consist of a wide range of clandestine networks around the world13. These social actors engage in anti-capitalist, anti-speciesist, and anti-dominionist campaigns focused on radically changing the relationship between “humans,” the “environment,” and all other species. There are, however, monikers that these clandestine networked cells can adopt in

13. As a point of distinction, this study does not focus on mainstream hierarchical animal advocacy organizations such as the Humane Society of the United States (HSUS), Farm Sanctuary, People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) and Mercy for Animals. These organizations functions with centralized memberships, bureaucratic for-pay leadership, and rely on corporate-media sponsorship such as celebrity-endorsed marketing material.

33 connection with action if it meets the listed ideological stances from the organization14.

Although my activism with and advocacy of animal liberation predates the analysis, I spent 19 months following several specific clandestine networks and campaigns15. These include actions claimed by activists in the name of the Animal Liberation Front, the Earth

Liberation Front, Earth First!, Defending Animal Rights Today and Tomorrow (DART),

269life, and the Bunny Alliance. During the 19 months, I attended demonstrations, participated in discussions at convergences, and extensively archived and collated activists’ use of social media closely.

The concept of security culture is palpable in every action and gathering, thus it presents a challenge to be known as “the researcher.” I structured the research so that I would not collect information or documents that incriminate activists, including myself. I struggled with the tension between gathering data for research and maintaining a commitment to social organizing. For example, I oftentimes was forced to ethically demarcate the difference between a personal conversation and a casual encounter with friends or acquaintances at a demonstration and data collection. In addition, research participants reluctantly engaged with me after I identified myself as a doctoral candidate focusing on leftist direct action. When activists were asked to become a research participant they either outright declined to be interviewed, or they set such specific parameters for the interview that the content was too vague. In effort to uphold my moral

14. Some of the monikers included in this study include Animal Liberation Front, Earth Liberation Front, Earth First!, Defending Animal Rights Today and Tomorrow (DARTT), The Bunny Alliance and 269Life.

15. Data was collected from May 2013-December 2014. Preliminary research was conducted from November 2012-January 2013. The data collected in this study was approved through American University’s Internal Review Board (IRB).

34 commitments to autonomy, anonymity, and illegal direct action, I focused more heavily on publicly available interviews with activists. I utilized the raw footage of publicly available interviews, public interactions on social media, and raw footage of demonstrations. Only the names of particularly visible members of the AELM are maintained to preserve historical accuracy16.

In effort to maintain my own credibility in the movement, as well as gather rich ethnographic data in heavily surveilled areas, the following analysis relies on the tools of ethnography. The demonstrations, gatherings, online debates and forums, as well as casual conversations place my experiences within the analysis. There are other activist voices woven throughout, as well as public interviews given by activists and political prisoners. Whenever I reference my own experiences, all other names and identities of the activists are made anonymous. In instances where I did record a demonstration or conversation, all participants were made aware of the project and that all identifying information would be removed. Because the physical spaces I used are so often resentful of academics and the extraction of their experiences to produce academic research inaccessible to activists in language and distribution (rather than radical change), there were times I did not disclose that in addition to being an activist, I was also conducting research as a doctoral candidate. In those cases, I only include my own observations rather than quotes others shared with me.

Ethnography as Method: Activist ethnography

16. The distinction here is between activists that have presumed, whether by intentional choice or circumstance, to maintain a nonhierarchical leadership role within an AELM campaign. This includes activists that publicly moderate prisoner support websites, press offices, direct action campaigns, journalists, academic authors, and social media pages.

35 As discussed in Chapter One: Introduction, anthropologists can intentionally structure their ethnography as a mode of activism to facilitate critical engagement with systems of power. Aligning myself with Abu-Lughod, I was keenly aware the varying modes of communication within the AELM such as political tattoos, piercing, hairstyles, clothing, posture during meetings, and digital media (Tumblr and Facebook handles, for example). Throughout the study, I consistently “made space” rather than closed off opportunities to include alternative modes of expression. For example, the initial research design intended to focus on Facebook as social media. As I learned more about which means of communication activists relied on, I began archiving other mediums such as

Instagram and Twitter to make space for these alternative modes. Transparency is an important ethical component to this ethnography. In designing this study, I adopted

Naples framework of producing transparent manuscripts that detail her experience with ethnography in various social justice movements. The ways in which I balanced my commitments to both academic and activist integrity was through transparency. I maintained a public blog throughout this study and posted components of my research as they were produced17. The blog was linked to my Facebook account, which I consistently posted to the Facebook page to increase traffic to the blog. Although users rarely commented directly on the blog, it was oftentimes brought up in personal interactions at demonstrations. The blog, a public and traceable repository, also held me accountable for my own political commitments. These anthropologists provide an epistemological framework to approach ethnography as political action. In order to accommodate the

17. The online blog can be found at www.thoughtsofapregnantvegan.wordpress.com.

36 range of perspectives amongst direct action activists, mixed-method ethnography provides an inclusive framework to gather in-depth, thick description (Geertz 1977).

Feminist methodologies provide a value framework that emphasize the ways in which individuals understand and articulate their identities through Standpoint theory

(Cook and Fonow 1991; Cook and Fonow 1986). Through virtual and physical performance, individuals further interact with their identities as an exchange and interpretation of others. As a participant-observation ethnographic study, feminist methodologies integrate these rich sites of text. Feminist methodologies posit that identity politics inform our experiences, that our methods maintain a commitment to action- orientated research, and that the researchers uphold a transparent and ethical participation in the populations in which anthropologists study (Harding 2003:2–17, 55, 103). As an activist, it is imperative that my research maintain transparency, my methods stand the critical examination of its subjects, and the research generated is part of a reciprocal relationship to positively impact the AELM (Oakley 1981; Roberts 1981; Maguire 1987;

Lather 1988). I do not view anarchist antispeciesists or the AELM at large as an external, contained site of information that I, as an anthropologist, can simply extract from to produce knowledge in a top-down model. Rather, I locate myself as a collaborator in a negotiated process of knowledge production that is flawed with power and social hierarchies. Through feminist methodologies, I attempt to subvert traditional power dynamics through studying up (Nader 1972:6; Nader 2014) .

The body of research is constituted by multi-sited and multi-focal participant- observation ethnography gathered between March 2013-August 2014. In additional to personal and political affinities with anarchist antispeciesists, I relied on social media to

37 identify key organizers and follow the ways in which they utilize social media as a stage to engage with the AELM. During the first stage of research, I identified attended home demonstrations with the anarchist antispeciesist collective Defending Animal Rights

Today and Tomorrow (DARTT)18. While attending the demonstrations, I made personal connections with the key organizers and conducted semi-structured interviews. These interviews were ad hoc and without a narrow framework of questions to address. I conducted the interviews casually after the demonstration and without any recording devices. I also did not take notes while the activists spoke, as I felt that would detract from the intimacy of disclosing political leanings and actions. Further, I wanted the interview to feel conversational and have a natural flow from topic to topic without my guidance. It was also important I did not appear suspicious or particularly imposing on the other activists, as that would be detrimental to my activist credibility. The interviews were brief, informal, and in public spaces. These activists became important interlocutors in the Washington, D.C. area because of their connections with other anarchist and antispeciesist campaigns (Said 1989).

The second stage of research, though is coincided with the first stage, involved gathering ethnographic data in Toronto, Canada with the anarchist collective Marineland

Animal Defense (MAD), as well as several anarchist antispeciesist collectives

(campaigns and monikers) including: DARTT, MAD, The Bunny Alliance, Resistance

Ecology, Earth First!, Animal Liberation Front (ALF), the Earth Liberation Front (ELF), and 269Life. In addition to traveling to Toronto, Canada, I gathered ethnographic data

18. I began attending DARTT demonstrations in September 2012, and have published part of my ethnographic notes in a book chapter and presented the research at several academic conferences (Grubbs 2014a; Grubbs 2012c; Grubbs 2012b; Grubbs 2012e; Grubbs 2012d).

38 throughout the Western region of the United States, attending formal and informal activist gatherings in Washington, Oregon, California, and Colorado in June-July 2014. I attended and participated in the Resistance Ecology conference hosted by Portland State

University, primarily geared toward activists, as well as the activist training summit,

Earth First! Rendezvous. The anarchist collective MAD conducts an aggressive campaign targeting the marine animal amusement park Marineland and the park’s owner, John

Holer during the peak season from June-November. I attended the Opening Day demonstrations in 2013 and 2014. I relied on the snowball effect to interview anarchist anti-speciesist activists in the area. The interviews were informal, anonymous, and not recorded. I remain in contact with the co-founder and organizer with MAD, as well as the founders of the Bunny Alliance. The anarchist collective Bunny Alliance identifies itself as a grassroots animal liberation organization engaged in an international campaign to end the transportation of animals to laboratories (Bunny Alliance website). The campaign, based on pressure tactics used by SHAC, has identified and targeted Delta, Air

France, and ABX Air because of their contractual agreements to ship animals to facilities within the animal testing industry. These collectives and campaigns are discussed in greater detail in Chapter Four: Direct Action as Spectacle.

The third component of data collection involved digital media and examined the ways in which activists engage with direct action in social media. Originally, I intended to interview activists in the U.K. that had been imprisoned for committing illegal direct actions connected to the AELM. Throughout the first and second stages of research, it became obvious that social media is one of the primary means of activist communication.

It was fascinating to follow the ways in which activists engaged with one another on the

39 virtual stages of Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. Rather than solely analyze the archived interviews of released political prisoners, and ethnographic texts from demonstrations and convergences, I decided to generate a corpus based on social media accounts. Throughout this period of data collection, I would post questions, provocative statements, and images to my own Facebook and others to generate discussions. I also followed the activist threads on the websites Anarchistnews, Reddit, and Indymedia. The included campaigns consist of activists that have been involved with the AELM for several decades, and span many different collectives that have splintered or emerged from various geographic concentrations of activists.19 To complement the brief and performative nature of social media posts, I integrated several public interviews given by activists in North America. These interviews include both video and written texts that do not conceal the identity of the participants. I also weave together the informal interviews

I had with activists during demonstrations and convergences. The semi-structured interviews consisted of open-ended questions about the respondents’ relationship with anarchist antispeciesist activism and how they viewed their role in the AELM. The questions focused on how the respondents articulate their political position within these movements, their perceived role in the movement, their tactical approach to social change, and what type of social change they advocate. In many cases, these questions were addressed virtually through social media.

19. The social media accounts include both centralized campaign or organization pages as well as individual activists that self-identify as members. The Bunny Alliance, Marineland Animal Defense, Earth First!, North American Animal Liberation Press Office, 269Life, and Resistance Ecology are among the campaigns included. In addition, I included activists that expressed an affinity or affiliation with anarchist antispeciesism, which brought in additional social media accounts from AELM organizations. For example, [Anonymous A] is the co-founder of Marineland Animal Defense, but he also contributes to the Talon Conspiracy, a press office and clearinghouse for anarchist antispeciesist direct action news.

40 The ethnographic data, as a starting point, directed the theoretical analysis as it emerged from the demonstrations, the activists’ accounts of political repression, and real- time language use that took place in physical and digital spaces. Through studying up, I became aware of several key tensions within the AELM that are less readily visible to those outside the movement (Nader 1972). I relied on the nonverbal communication of symbols such as XVX (Straight Edge Vegan), SXE (Straight Edge), 5-point star

(Pentagram), high-lace boots (oftentimes with black laces) in conjunction with a flight jacket, silk handkerchief, and perhaps suspenders (Oi! Skinheads), knuckle tattoos, and variations of the circle A (Anarchist). These symbols provide important markers in understanding how activists articulate their narrative within the AELM. The symbols are represented through clothing, memes, tattoos and scarification, posters, self-portraits, patches, and stencils. Anthropologists have long since interrogated the social and cultural value in how symbols, particularly when integrated with body modifications, are used to communicate identity politics (Dececco, Williams, and Andros 1990; Pitts 2003; Krutak

2012). One of the larger sites of tension amongst anarchist antispeciesists centers on the use of alcohol and other drugs. Because I do not identify as a Straight Edge Vegan, but many of my respondents do identify as such, I was careful not to engage in alcohol use in front of them. I relied on nonverbal symbols to determine the political leanings of my respondent, and also to place them within a moral geography of anarchist and antispeciesist politics. I also maneuvered certain activist spaces with privilege through the nonverbal symbols of my partner; a circle A tattoo on his forearm and a prominent septum ring. My interactions with these symbols provide a more comprehensive

41 understanding of how activists communicate identity and politics through in-group communication.

Narrative, Evaluation, and Critical Discourse Analysis

This project is predicated on addressing a series of central questions: In what ways does the State facilitate the social power and dominance of agri-vivisection industries through the ideology of neoliberal capitalism, how do anarchist antispeciesists engage with and subvert said power of the State and agri-vivisection industries through direct action, and in what ways can we understand the relational dialectic between the

State and anarchist antispeciesists of political repression through the lens of punishment.

These central questions guided the methodological choices to use a critical framework and queer linguistic approach that are aimed at uncovering what ideological structures shape power, how activists engage with ideological structures through language, and why are both activists and the State engaging with these structures in particular ways. The following analysis relied on Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA) to address these questions.

Critical discourse analysis (CDA) is a type of discourse analytical research that primarily studies the way social power abuse, dominance, and inequality are enacted, reproduced, and resisted by text and talk in the social and political context. With such dissident research, critical discourse analysts take explicit position, and thus want to understand, expose, and ultimately resist social inequality…CDA is not so much a direction, school, or specialization next to the many other "approaches" in discourse studies. Rather, it aims to offer a different "mode" or "perspective" of theorizing, analysis, and application throughout the whole field (Heller 2003:252–253).

With roots in critical theory, CDA complements the feminist methodologies used to both collect and interpret data. CDA emerged in the 1970’s out of the Lancaster School of

Linguistics, and is attributed to the work of Normal Fairclough and Ruth Wodak

42 (Jorgensen and Phillips 2002:92). Linguists relied on several notable critical theorists to integrate the sociopolitical theories of power with the methodological aims of linguistic inquiry20. As a framework rather than method, CDA emphasizes the ways in which power and control are reproduced through “language as social practice” within a sociopolitical context (Fairclough and Wodak 1997; Meyer and Wodak 2009). The main tenets of CDA, according to Fairclough and Wodak (1997) are:

…1. CDA addresses social problems 2. Power relations are discursive 3. Discourse constitutes society and culture 4. Discourse does ideological work 5. Discourse is historical 6. The link between text and society is mediated 7. Discourse analysis is interpretative and explanatory 8. Discourse is a form of social action. Whereas some of these tenets have also been. [Fairclough and Wodak 1997:271–80]

Anarchist antispeciesists engage with direct action through language both in-person and through social media as a way to negotiate power. Activist ethnographies that utilize

CDA as a framework maintain that the critical component of Discourse Analysis relies on a reflexive awareness of the anthropologist’s role of either reproducing or interrupting power within the context of research. The intimate access I had with the AELM throughout this study relied on a perceived credibility from activists outside of academia.

In fact, my academic credentials oftentimes proved detrimental to my perceived credibility with activists. Researchers rely on financial grants to their fund research studies and travel, however these have political implications. In order to maintain ethical commitments to my research population (and my own ethical commitments) and ensure my research did not reproduce the power of the State through academic surveillance, I

20. The intellectual trajectory of CDA and its influential theorists include a (sometimes contested) series of contributors, “…depending on the discipline, orientation, school or paradigm involved, these lines of development are traced back…” (Van Dijk 1993:251). The contributors include Karl Marx, Theordor Adorno, Walter Benjamin, Jurgen Habermas, Antonio Gramsci, Stuart Hall, Foucault, and Michel Pêcheux.

43 did not apply for funding from government agencies21. Further, I did not apply for research funding from any agency that funded institutions or scholars that bred, housed, or experimented on animals, engaged in deforestation, the genetic modification of ecosystems, or the displacement of indigenous peoples22. I did not participate in academic conferences or publications sponsored by agencies that did so. The methodological tools, theoretical framework and data are only part of the research design. Largely, this project entailed a critical engagement with power and the sociopolitical conditions in which language was used. Critical Discourse Analysis, rather than its predecessor, Discourse

Analysis, is distinct in that:

That all thought is fundamentally mediated by power relations that are social and historically situated…That facts can never be isolated from the domain of values or removed from some form of ideological inscription…The relationship between concept and object and between signifier and signified is never stable or fixed and is often mediated by the social relations of capitalist production and consumption…That certain groups in any society are privileged over others…[and] that mainstream research practices are generally, although most often unwittingly, implicated in the reproduction of systems of class, race, and gender oppression. [Locke 2004:25–26]

The central questions in this analysis are ones of challenging systems of power, socially constructed hierarchies and privilege, the ways in which ideology influences language, and how activists engage with language as an ideological exercise. These questions (and the political aims involved in adequately addressing them) rely on the critical capacities

21. This includes working with private security firms, public relations firms, government agencies, and funding agencies that become stakeholders of the research project itself. For example, the National

Consortium for the Study of Terrorism and Responses to Terrorism (START) offers doctoral research grants that focus on Terrorism Studies (Terrorism Research Award n.d.).

22. This includes many university grants, private institutions that fund a broad range of research, and national grants such as the National Institute of Health and the National Science Fund.

44 of a methodological framework and values-based ethics that aim to alleviate social inequality and dominance.

From a discourse analytical and sociopolitical point of view it is tempting to study the relations between discourse structures and power structures more or less directly…we may assume that directive speech acts such as commands or orders may be used to enact power, and hence also to exercise and to reproduce dominance…we may examine the style, rhetoric or meaning of texts for strategies that aim at the concealment of social power relations, for instance by playing down, leaving implicit or understanding responsible agency of powerful social actors in the events represented in the text. However, the relationships involved and the conditions on reproduction are far more complicated than that…Social inequality, at the societal level, is not simply or always reproduced by individual (speech) acts such as commands… [Van Dijk 1993:251]

It is through the detailed attention to context, symbolic action, and a political imaginary that I engaged with the corpus. The application of CDA provided a necessary critical lens to understand how the discourse connects to society, and the ways in which discourse reproduces dominance and inequality by focusing on the role of role of performance

(social representations) in the minds of anarchist antispeciesists (Van Dijk 1993:251). A queer linguistic framework provides a bridge between the use of grounded theory in which I focused on neoliberal capitalism, performativity and spectacle, and political repression and punishment, and the linguistic analysis in which I focused on how anarchist antispeciesists utilize language to confront and rearticulate power. Foucault’s contributions to CDA point to the distinction that, “…discourses are not only mere expressions of social practice, but also serve particular ends, namely the exercise of power,” which connect more broadly to Foucault’s contributions to understanding power as not only as a method of discipline but also to understand truth and contradiction

(Smart 1983:80–83). The texts used in this analysis, particular those from social media, are influx engagements with performing, interpreting, and recapitulating power. The

45 chants at a demonstration or proclamations made in the courtroom are reactionary and seek to [re]create a discourse of power that offers a different reality through the political imaginary (Graeber 2009b). These sites of tension between resistance and hegemony are woven throughout the texts, and incorporated through CDA. As a methodological extension of CDA, though not a central tool of inquiry, I utilized corpus linguistics (CL) to analyze the ways in which ideological structures of power are both reified and recapitulated through language.

The technical method of CL emerged in the 1960’s out of the Speech Act Theory credited to John Austin and John Searle, though there are historical records of corpora- based analyses that predate the 1960’s (Adolphs 2008:7). CL, similar to CDA, provides a critical engagement with social structures that has been used by critical linguists interested in disrupting hegemonic interpretations of language (Baker 2008:73; Decena

2008a; Leap 2011a; Leap 2014). There are many approaches to CL that place varying emphasis on the method as corpus-based and corpus-driven. Broadly speaking, the various approaches to CL share a basic practice of analyzing a set of machine-readable texts, or a set of texts refered to as a corpus, in order to address a series of research questions (McEnery and Hardie 2011:2–5). The use of computational software to conduct computer-based text analysis allows for large sets of data to ‘study everyday language’

(Tausczik and Pennebaker 2010:24). The corpus in this analysis, specifically the RSS feed of content from Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr, were too large to analyze by hand and eye within a practical timeframe, thus I integrated two Open Source software platforms to analyze the data. I utilized the software AntCon to quantify the use of words identified through preliminary research, and also to conduct concordance research to

46 uncover which words appeared in conjunction with identified words. The concordance listings demonstrate the linguistic context in which particular words are used (Biber,

Conrad, and Reppen 1998:27–28). These data sets were also run through Wordle to create visual representations of commonly used words in Word Clouds. Words, however, do not solely exist within the context of the surrounding sentence, but language itself intervenes in a social context and the values held in that context. When the frame of CDA is used with the method of CL, CL, Fowler notes three distinct considerations with the use of corpora and, “…the context of the social circumstances in which they have been produced…to reveal ‘the ideology coded implicitly behind the overt propositions…[and to] challenge common sense by pointing out that something could have been represented some other way, with a very different significance” (Hunston 2002:109).

The corpus, derived from both social media and ethnographic notes, exists within a socially and culturally specific context. When taken together, the interviews, field notes, and texts from social media constitute a diverse range of life stories from activists that capture the external social exchanges and the internal narratives (Linde 1993:51). I looked for evaluative clauses that address the secondary research questions focused on how activists understand their activism in relation to the State. Evaluation can be found anywhere in the ordered structural parts of the text, and will provide insight into how respondents perceive their activism in relation to anarchist anti-speciesist movements. In effort to preserve local modes of knowledge and expression, and the subjectivities of the respondents, the data analysis focused on evaluation (Thompson and Huntson 2001:6).

The demonstrations themselves follow an ordered structure with optional abstract statements that summarize the purpose of the demonstration, can offer evaluation, or

47 serve an interactive function (Linde 1993:69). The demonstration proclamations and chants also include orientation, narrative clauses, and the coda to conclude the spectacle.

There are distinctions made between the demonstrations carefully scripted and rehearsed and those spontaneously delivered without premeditation. The focus on narrative and evaluation within the corpus facilitates a rich anthropological discourse on social movements, subjectivities, and perceptions of State repression.

The data include ethnographic observations during the demonstrations and general assemblies. In examining the text, I paid careful attention to the polysemy of the message (Turner 2003:112). Stuart Hall points to the issues of disconnect with message encoding and decoding in television, and argues that messages are always already interpretive (Hall 1980:173). The research interrogates the activists’ intention in the encoding process, but also the public audience’s role in the decoding process. The messages from the speech event will be negotiated through performance and audience reception, “Importantly, repetition and subversion are not properties ‘of’ text but reflect the engagements of speakers and audiences with text production and reception…” (Leap

2011:562). The sidewalk is the activist stage and can become a site of disidentification that can elicit disidentifcatory thoughts from the audience (Muñoz 2009:1–18). The audience is veiled through user feedback, however, on social media sites. The ways in which I interpreted the data from social media included user comments and user interactions through hashtags, Facebook tagging, and the integration of social media accounts with one another through coded linkages (#, @, and tagging). The ethnographic data captures the tensions between intentionality and audience reception, which is an informative source of text for analysis (Hill 2005:159). The data collected before, during,

48 and after public events, such as a demonstration, has been analyzed for inconsistencies, tensions, consistencies, and cohesiveness in their responses. The transcripts of these public events constitute part of the corpus. Preliminary research with the DC-based animal liberation collective indicates several key words used in demonstrations: “you”

“us” “animal” and “they.” I looked for the collocations with these terms to examine how activists articulate their politics and positionality in relation to the targeted individual/corporation (Baker 2008:76). Through discourse analysis of the participant- observation ethnographic data and life story interviews, I attempted to capture the many voices of activists in the AELM. Although the linguistic methods provide a way to understand the use of language, the ethnographic data focused on the performance through language.

Performance as Method: Nuanced modes of resistance

The ways in which activists rely on physical performance, both verbal and nonverbal, cannot be quantified through an analysis of transcribed text. The tone, gestures, clothing, sarcasm, and use of physical props oftentimes fall outside the purview of traditional CL methodologies. More importantly, these features of text exist within the fractured moments of empowerment during convergences or demonstrations within the larger structures of dominance and control. Thus, rather than:

…privileging texts and narratives, we could also look to scenarios as meaning- making paradigms that structure social environments, behaviors, and potential outcomes…The scenario includes features well theorized in literary analysis, such as narrative and plot, but demands that we also pay attention to milieu and corporeal behaviors such as gestures, attitudes, and tones not reducible to language. Simultaneously setup and action, scenarios frame and activate social dramas…All scenarios have localized meaning, though, many attempt to pass as universally valid. Actions and behaviors arising from the setup might be predictable, a seemingly natural consequence of the assumptions, values, goals,

49 power relations, presumed audience, and epistemic grids established by the setup itself…The scenario requires us to wrestle with the social construction of bodies in particular contexts…Scenarios by definition introduce the generative critical distance between social actor and character. Whether it is a question of mimetic representation (an actor assuming a role) or of performativity, of social actors assuming socially regulated patterns of appropriate behavior, the scenario more fully allows us to keep both the social actor and the role in view simultaneously, and thus recognize the areas of resistance and tension. The frictions between plot and character (on the level of narrative) and embodiment (social actors) make for some of the most remarkable instances of parody and resistance in performance traditions in the Americas. [Taylor 2003:28–30]

To uncover the ways in which scenario influences text and how the text co-constructs a negotiated scenario, the analysis requires a method that accounts for how activists communicate through performance. The texts of a demonstration, when run through

AntCon and examined for linguistic patterns, provide only one isolated element of the speech act. The multi-coded elements of communication, particularly the inflection and use of sarcasm, are unaccounted form. Further, the analysis of social media is inherently interactive, conducted within social contexts, and constrained by both interpersonal and intrapersonal performativity. Thus, the project relied on CDA for a methodological framework, and integrated a mixed-methodological toolbox of CL and Performance

Studies.

Rather than collate hundreds of demonstration texts, I chose to focus on a tangible number of texts that can be analyzed by hand. I also relied on the visual archive within my field notes, including pictures and video footage. Similar to Diana Taylor’s ethnographic accounts of the H.I.J.O.S. in Buenos Aires, Argentina in 2000, I was interested in how anarchist antispeciesists utilize performance protest to transmit traumatic memory and challenge neoliberal capitalism and speciesism (Taylor 2003:165).

Although trauma studies tends to narrowly focus on the individual, performance studies

50 emphasizes the collective, public functions of performativity. Similar to the Escrache al

Plan Condor that Taylor recounts in May 2000, the direct actions I engaged in with anarchist antispeciesists were powerfully charged and reaffirming23. The act of “marking the space was thrilling” and provided a fractured space and place where activists felt in charge of [re]creating their own reality. Whether I was attending a home demonstration or a public protest, “the trauma was palpable, the emotional power contagious, and the sense of political empowerment energizing. Even I…felt renewed hope and resolve”

(Taylor 2003:164). The integration of music, dance, puppetry, comedy, and physical interactions infuse playfulness to the overwhelmingly depressing issues addressed: vivisection, hunting, fur trade and animal trapping, slaughter and captivity24. The demonstrations I attended, as well as private gatherings and public convergences, featured a dynamic range of engagement. Several large demonstrations featured the international puppet theater collective, Bread and Puppet Theater. Bread and Puppet

Theater was founded in 1963 in the Lower East Side of New York City, and challenged the cost of rent, poor housing conditions, and the police through satirical puppetry. The founder, Peter Schumann, clearly articulates the powerful use of satirical puppetry as a mode of resistance:

We give you a piece of bread with the puppet show because our bread and theater belong together…We want you to understand that theater is not yet an established form, not the place of commerce you think it is, where you pay to get something. Theater is different. It is more like bread, more like a necessity. Theater is a form

23. Escraches are acts of public shaming, a form of guerilla performance, that was used in Argentina by young adults to expose the ways in which individuals who challenged government corruption were targeted, kidnapped, and murdered (Taylor 2003:164)

24. The concept of playfulness and play is discussed in great detail in Chapter Five: Direct Action as Spectacle.

51 of religion. It preaches sermons and builds a self-sufficient ritual. Puppet theater is the theater of all means. Puppets and masks should be played in the street. They are louder than the traffic. They don’t teach problems, but they scream and dance and display life in its clearest terms. Puppet theater is of action rather than dialogue. The action is reduced to the simplest dance-like and specialized gestures. A puppet may be a hand only, or it may be a complicated body of many heads, hands, rods and fabric. We have two types of puppet shows: good ones and bad ones, but all of them are for good and against evil.” [Bread and Puppet Theatre n.d.]

The puppet shows rely on a particular context in which the use of satire is both recognizable and empowering. Performance Studies provides a lens to analyze the ways in which activists engage with structures of power, both as identity performance and protest performance, through physical and virtual interactions. Because performances,

“function as vital acts of transfer, transmitting social knowledge, memory, and a sense of identity through reiterated, or what Richard Schechner has called “twice-behaved behavior,” the acts themselves communicate ideology (Taylor 2003:3). Therefore, the analysis of these performances must accommodate the nuanced, multi-coded communication that is embodied in acts of resistance.

Bringing together the work of linguistic anthropologists such as Michele Rosaldo and Richard Bauman, the work of dramaturgical anthropologists such as Erving Goffman and Clifford Geertz, and the rhetorical scholarships of Kenneth Burke and Judith Butler, the following project places great emphasis on the creativity at play in the use of language, both verbal and nonverbal, through a negotiation between “speakers” and the audience (Addo 2009; Beeman 1993; Chen 2011; Muñoz 1999; Shepard, Bogad, and

Duncombe 2008).25 The study of performance protest was paramount in David Graeber’s

52 1999 ethnography of anarchists that gathered for the World Trade Organization protests in Seattle, Washington. The injection of humor and jest in confrontational direct action has been refered to as tactical frivolity by anthropologists such as Graeber and Naomi

Klein (Graeber 2009b; Klein 2000; MacDonald 2005; Prague n.d.)26. The performance does not simply challenge an institution of power, but rather it challenges the political imaginary to re-envision a society without institutions at all:

The power sought is not political power but the power of imagination…Immanent in activist practice, I would say, is a theory that the ultimate form of power is precisely the power of imagination. It is this power that creates sociality and social form; the experience of concocting a chant and witnessing it become a collective project becomes an immediate experience of such power. But this power is a sacred force that can only, possibly, be represented by ridiculous self- mockery. This self-mockery is represented in direct actions through such things as the use of huge puppets, dance and street theatre which constitute a kind of symbolic warfare that aims to re-frame reality in terms other than those defined by the representatives of the state, most notably the police. [Bretherton 2011]

The task of political re-imagination is both empowering and daunting. Thus, the interjection of humor and satire allow for the impossibilities to seem tangible, entertaining, and even comical. The performance creates a less daunting form of disidentification with neoliberal capitalism and speciesism.

The history of performance studies is interdisciplinary in both function and form.

The contributions include scholarship in anthropology, communication, theater studies and philosophy, and have provided a useful lens to examine colonialism around the world

25. The use of the term “speaker” does not imply verbal utterances constitute the active participation in the performance. In addition to including nonverbal communication such as gestures and bodily movement, I challenge the ableist assumption that verbal communication must be spoken in the traditional sense.

26. The term tactical frivolity refers to the use of frivolous, or humorous, tactics that challenges authority through nonviolence. The Clandestine Insurgent Rebel Clown Army has been noted as one of the prominent groups that integrated both theatrical and carnival performances during the confrontational 2005 G8 Summit protests in Scotland.

53 (Taylor 2003:33). Linguistic scholars and archeologists faced the challenge of interrogating how non-Western, non-empirical linguistic practices and codes were transmitted through performances, and how those practices had been erased from contemporary accounts of native communities. Performance studies, in this sense, provide a recapitulation of erased peoples, erased modes of communication, and erased methodologies of resistance. Within the academic disciplines of anthropology and communication, both anarchist antispeciesists and direct action remain on the fringe. The ideological critiques of neoliberal capitalism and authoritarianism, in conjunction with the antispeciesist challenge to dominion, have not been adequately included in social movement discourses, environmental anthropology, environmental communication, or broadly, overarching critical discourses within the social sciences (Best et al. 2007;

Graeber 2009b; Grubbs 2012e). The process of data collection and analysis is a political act of creating space for confrontational rhetoric, nontraditional ways of protest, and social critiques that challenge foundational systems of power.

Direct action relies on tension, confrontation, and interactions internally and externally with audiences. The exchange of performances intentionally creates a friction by exposing hegemonic compulsory behavior and demonstrating how these behaviors contradict moral truisms. For example, performance protests often rely on lengthy proclamations delivered by organizers to describe violence against other species, name individuals that perpetrate said violence, and assert interventions that would cease the acts of violence. The proclamations rely on the assumption that the audience was unaware of this violence, and thus would be outraged to learn how their actions contributed to it. As discussed in Chapter One: Introduction, the modality of performance

5 4 (as a queer rearticulation of resistance) is referred to as the “worldmaking power of disidentifactory performances” (Muñoz 2009:ix). Similar to how Muñoz focused on the tensions created by feeling disconnected and disjointed with representations of gender and sexuality, I looked at, “disidentifactory performances of politics, acts that I will describe as reformulating the world through the performance of politics,” and how the

State retaliates through interpellating activists as ecoterrorists (Muñoz 2009:ix; Pêcheux

1982:158–159). While I stood on the street corner holding the bullhorn, with a scarf wrapped over my mouth, I felt the blonde hairs raise on my arms. I felt my hands shake with the excitement, my heart pounding through my chest. The social and political ramifications for my actions were suspended in time, and I was filled with surges of power and thoughts of revolution rather than repression. I looked around and other activists shared an electric synergy that is absent in everyday interactions. I carried on conversations with onlookers that made these fringe, radical concerns seem rationale and legitimate. I watched as the strangers tried to avert their eyes from the giant foam-core posters displaying maimed rabbits and the carcasses of vivisected beagles. Politicians, diplomats and corporate executives frequented this particular sidewalk in downtown

Washington, D.C., but that afternoon it was reclaimed. The tensions were palpable. The audience found themselves disidentifiying with corporations they thought represented moral truisms (AstraZeneca = science, medical progress) and struggling to identify with activists deemed ecoterrorists. Herein lies part of the power of performance studies as a methodology to analyze the ethnographic data collected in this study: the tensions, multi- coded messages, layered performances, and playful performativity become texts in and of themselves.

Limitations

Corpus linguistics, albeit all research, carries with it subjectivities that intentionally and unintentionally inform the data analysis. These subjectivities can inform the selection of texts that constitute the corpora, the theoretical framework of the researcher, and the ways in which context comes into play. Linguists have responded to the claims that issues of confirmation bias in selecting the sample and applying contextual understandings run counter to the scientific method with regard to falsifiability

(McEnery and Hardie 2012:3–13). This research, however, is not aimed at making large generalizations about all social movements or activist communication. Rather, the contextual understandings and theoretical background of the principal investigator provide for rich understandings of the specific sample population; anarchist antispeciesists.

Subjectivities of the researcher can be a powerful tool of investigative when brought to the forefront rather than cloaked in rhetoric of sterile objectivity. Academic research interrogating social movements, broadly, and social movement campaigns, specifically, is always already interpellated within sociopolitical realities. The ways in which sociopolitical realities inform our selections of research populations and how the corpus confirms or refutes already-established theoretical leanings can also create productive tension between the researcher and the research findings. Specifically, I began this research as an anarchist antispeciesist that endorsed direct action. The data has been aggregated through a series of linguistic tools, and did not always produce positive representations of both the AELM and direct action. However, these sites provided useful

56 junctures of critical engagement that would not be possible if the author did not disclose or integrate these confirmation biases.

My ability to enter particular spaces was hindered by not just financial barriers to travel for demonstrations, activist trials, and convergences, but also by physical barriers to leave my breastfeeding children for several days. For the 6 weeks spent in the Western region of the United States (Washington, Oregon, California, and Colorado), my young children were in tow. Feminist anthropologists have written on the physical and sociological pressures of academic mothers, and this was exacerbated by the constraints that mothering places on activists. I found myself more cautious of police presence and the threat of arrest knowing that my child would be taken out of my custody during the immediate proceedings. When there were threats of physical violence such as pepper spray or assault, I found myself retreating out of fear that the fetus (while pregnant) or toddler (during later demonstrations) would be injured. For other activists reading my behavior, I felt as if I appeared less confrontational, less active, thus less passionate about the movement. My reserved and passive behavior may have been read as fair-weather activism rather than confrontational direct action. In this way, I left many convergences and demonstrations feeling more like a nuisance than an asset. Although I realize my physical body and the rhetorical value of having a child present holds value, it is undoubtedly problematic as it reinforces notions of heteronormative cisgender privilege.

The study was hindered by my ability to travel for larger demonstrations and activist trials. I was not able to make the kind of connections that flourish in face-to-face interactions due to physical and financial constraints. I addressed this by integrating raw footage and edited videos of demonstrations across the country that has been posted

57 online. These include video archives from activists each of the campaigns included in this study. The archived videos provide a visible chronology of the campaigns prior to my original points of contact in 2012. Through the internet and social media I was also able to access images, commentary, and news articles that documented demonstrations. This provided a large corpus of chants, songs, public debates, and comments without the environmental tax of my transportation.27 This ethnography balances the limitations with the strengths through intentional reflexivity. I remained cognizant of my presence in the research and in the physical spaces I occupy as an activist and academic. Further, I remained flexible and was humbled through the process of adaptation, as I had to adjust methods of data collection and analysis.

Conclusion

Weaving it all together

The mixed methodological approach facilitated the ethnographic data collection and data analysis through a queer linguistic approach to CDA and performance studies.

The data was collected from May 2013-December 2014, and included digital media acquired through social media. Although much of the thick description and ethnographic data was collected through personal observations and interactions, significant data was gathered through digital communities such as Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr.

The performativity of resistance manifests itself within a complicated nexus of physical

27. As an anarchist antispeciesists, and as a scholar affiliated publicly with the AELM, it was important that the methods of data collection reflected a larger politic about ecological devastation. When opportunities presented themselves to carpool, engage in international conference panels online rather than in-person, and to minimize the amount of individual travel I used, I took advantage of these. Not only does excessive international and domestic travel run counter to my own politic and means, it would also serve as detrimental to my public reputation in the movement.

58 interactions and digital communication, thus requiring a nexus of research methods to adequately address the contemporary realities of activism. The study focused on how language is used to co-construct individual and collective identity within the context of recapitulating systems of power, how language is used through direct action, and ultimately, how power is negotiated through the performance of protest. Each chapter connected theoretical discourses across disciplines with the data collected to localize abstract discussions of neoliberal capitalism, dramaturgical and spectacular performance and political repression with anarchist antispeciesist direct action. As Muñoz states in the opening quote, there is a lure to the spectacle of a few activists standing on a metaphorical stage (physical or virtual) and opening up a world of anarchist antispeciesist language, lyricism, perceptions, dreams, visions, aesthetics, and politics. The spectacle exists within a suspended moment in time that fractures compulsory speciesism and hegemonic authoritarianism. For these moments, the political terrain that commodifies other-than-human animal bodies through capture, rape, and slaughter are halted. Activists can temporarily abandon the overwhelming sense of loss and grief, and instead perform and theatricalize the political imaginary they seek to create. The methodologies used in this study allow for a close reading of the performances and how activists engage with structures of power, while maintaining a commitment to producing approachable research that contributes to radical social change.

59 CHAPTER THREE

ETHNOGRAPHY

“I would hate to tell you what this lousy little book cost me in money and anxiety and time.” [Vonnegut 1991:2]

“So it goes.” [Vonnegut 1991:2]

The journey into "the field" is not a monolithic journey amongst all anthropologists. I found myself addressing a series of assumptions when I explained to others that my fieldwork is based on a fluid, fragmented, oftentimes digital space without geographical borders. There was an assumption that I had take physical luggage with me on a journey in which I abandoned my own community in order to submerge myself into another.

There was an assumption that I would physically enter a space that was not my own, or that you at the very least maintain the dual-position of both researcher and member of the respective community. Unfortunately for those that made such assumptions, my explanations challenged these generalizations about the anthropological exercise of ethnography.

According to Michel de Certeau, ‘What the map cuts up, the story cuts across’ [1984:129]. This pithy phrase evokes a postcolonial world crisscrossed by transnational narratives, Diaspora affiliations, and, especially, the movement and multiple migrations of people, sometimes voluntary, but oftentimes economically propelled and politically coerced. In order to keep up with such a world, we now think of “place” as a heavily trafficked intersection, a port of call and exchange, instead of a circumscribed territory. A boundary is more like a membrane than a wall….”location” is imagined as an itinerary instead of a fixed point…”local context” expands to encompass the historical, dynamic, often traumatic, movements of people, ideas, images, commodities, and capital. [Conquergood 2002:145]

60 In some cases, I did pack a bag and physically travel to another city, another state, or another country. But, in many cases, I remained in the comfortable [arm]chair in my office and actively archived social media sties. I may have grabbed a jacket to take with me, but the demonstrations were often just a few miles from my home. The spaces in which I occupied to participate with and collect data from throughout this ethnographic study are linked together through intersectional political affiliations, social networks of activism, nepotistic interpersonal connections. This provided a series of rich sites that embody the fluid and flexible functionality of direct action activism the ideological leanings of anarchist antispeciesists. As a participant in these communities, my voice is woven consistently throughout the texts. Rather than constantly maneuver the dual role of researcher and activist, I came to define myself as an activist that also does research.

Thus, the role of research became suspended to prioritize my identity and commitments as an activist. The only role I found that posed a consist challenge to the quantity of data collected was my role as a mother. This became an interesting and unexpected constraint on my ability to gather a wide-range of data throughout the research.

Bullhorns, balaclavas and babies: Placing myself

I fall within a rich history of anthropologists that struggled with the personal and political boundaries between themselves and their research subjects. The struggle, however, yields an academic mestiza-of-sorts that is capable of providing emotionally rich narratives that exist within the invisible borderlands between our academic and political selves (Bambara 1984; Anzaldúa, Cantú, and Hurtado 2012). The convergences, demonstrations, and courtrooms, and classrooms are but merely stages in which we perform versions of ourselves. They are the physicality of an embodied location that does

61 not require luggage, travel, or penetrating foreign spaces. The role of an activist is to transcend the geographical limits that often isolate us from one another. Activists rely on social media, the internet, and phone calls from afar to engage in community despite financial and legal barriers, as well as other restrictions that make it difficult to travel. As a mother of two that works a full-time job, teaches two courses per semester as an adjunct instructor, and as an activist that is involved in intersectional (but oftentimes mutually- exclusive) social movements, I am tasked to maneuver a variety of barriers. Throughout the entire planning, data collection, and writing stages of this research, I have been both pregnant and on-demand breastfeeding. Each time a demonstration is called, a court hearing is held, and a national convergence in organized, I weigh my ability to attend with my ability to travel with children. I am aware of the privileged spaces I occupy: heteronormative co-parenting, cisgender performance, white skin and (presumed) class mobility, graduate education, physical ability, and citizenship. These are listed in no particular order or priority. With full acknowledgement of the privileged spaces I occupy, it is also worth exploring the structural privileges I am denied as a female and as a mother.

The following project interrogates my role as both researcher and activist. I engage in an honest and reflective dialogue about actualizing radical social change in spite of State repression. Through a 15-month participant observation ethnography based on anarchist anti-species activism in the U.S. and Canada, this research contributes to an international discourse on social movement theory. Further, this research provides an important praxis in the ever-expanding gap between direct action and academia. The stories told are anonymous, unless the activist has done so publicly. Many of the actions

62 discussed are illegal. The morality is not debated, though I believe these movements are powerfully necessary. However, the data derived and theories professed are an important part of crucial debates in the fields on anthropology and communication. I engage this research with the perspective that I am always, already in the field. As an anarchist antispeciesist that both ideologically and politically identifies with intersectional direct action used by many of the anarchist antispeciesists in this study, the site of research lies in my lived reality. Whether it is showing up to work and closeting politics or carefully crafting a public presence in the realm of social media, I am always already negotiating the ways in which I penetrate “the field.”

Reproducing divisions through reproductive choices

When I attended my first home demonstration in Washington, D.C., I was 5 months pregnant with my first child. In jest, one of the activists referred to me as the

“vegan breeder.” The activist also told me that he had been electively sterilized and published his critique of human reproduction in a zine. I learned early in my own activism that although I have access to a multitude of privilege in dominant culture as a cisgender woman that is married to the man that “fathered” my two children, in anarchist anti-speciesist circles I would experience tension because of it. Alternatively, these decisions would oftentimes be at the center of public debate between activists. In 2013 I was invited to weigh in on a keynote debate for the Institute for Critical Animal Studies

North America Conference. One of the speakers (that I did not know) contacted me for an interview because they heard I was one of the few in the movement that had birthed a child. This indicated that people had utilized word-of-mouth and social media to clearly mark me because of my reproductive choices. Because pregnancy is a physical

63 embodiment, particularly on a 5’2” petite frame, it was difficult to closet my pregnancies.

Since the birth of my first child in March 2012, I have been publicly breastfeeding.

Throughout this entire study, I did not attend a demonstration without a child, either physically with me or in utero. It is not uncommon to find me at a demonstration with a baby in one hand and a sign in the other. In one large march in Washington, D.C., I kept to the end of the cluster of demonstrators and used the stroller as a physical barrier to keep the police back. Outside of the Freddy Mac office building with several hundred protesters, I stood at the front, face-to-face with Department of Homeland Security officers aggressively holding canisters of pepper spray and kept repeating, “I am 8 months pregnant.” The use of my body as strategic capital for the movement is not a new topic for debate amongst feminists (Collins 2006; Nicholson 1997; Williams and

Chrisman 1994). However, it is worth noting the dialectical tension between the ways these sexual and reproductive choices are seen as privilege for dominant culture and grounds for exclusion and being discredited by anarchist antispeciesist in the AELM.

The reproductive choices of anarchist antispeciesists have also been subject to debate and splinters in the movement. Following the 2013 conference debate that I was asked to contribute to, I found myself in an international debate through social media that pitted my views against another female activist that I highly respected and had worked with in the past. In a movement without leaders or hierarchical structures, there remains a tendency to symbolically appoint representatives that come to embody the tropes of heroism or tropes of villainism. Following the debate, the keynote speaker who was critical of activists that biologically reproduce posted her thoughts on her own personal blog. After reading the entry, I wrote a response and articulated my arguments against the

64 condemning of reproductive choices. The entries were posted to Facebook and an online discussion ensued. The comments from others focused less on content and quickly polarized the discussion into me versus her. Although her and I never directed our criticism at one another, those who contributed either applauded or condemned our arguments. I was either the shameful birther or she was the ethnocentric sterilized white woman. I was either the brave defender of mothers globally or she was the selfless activist truly committed to reducing the Western footprint.

The following vignettes are windows into the much larger collection of stories, but they illustrate the ways in which anarchist antispeciesists engage in and articulate direct action and how activists resist State repression. The first trip to St. Catharines,

Canada for the Marineland Animal Defense Opening Day demonstration marked the beginnings of the physical interactions with the organizers. The trip also shaped the subsequent interactions, as well as the structure of the project itself. It was on this trip that I began to see how gender and reproductive choices operationalized the patriarchal divisions that oftentimes place men at the forefront of social movement organizing.

Because of practical spatial issues (such as attending evening punk shows, standing next to or holding a bullhorn to chant, or traveling ad hoc to demonstrations with others) I struggled with the desire to gain access to spaces without the flexibility to do so. As I traveled back and forth to Canada, attended demonstrations throughout Ohio and

Washington, D.C., and spent 2 months frequenting anarchist spaces and convergences in the Pacific Northwest United States, I took notes. The notes were scribbled on napkins, scrap paper, and the back of receipts. I took voice memos in the car while my daughters slept, and I rapidly text away on my cell phone if I was able to sit in the passenger seat. I

65 awoke before my children to type the random thoughts that kept me awake at night, and in some cases I snuck out of bed only to fall asleep at the computer. Alas, the stories included here are merely parts to a larger whole. There are stories told in other chapters, stories I have told in other publications, and stories I have saved to tell another day.

Direct Action Campaigns

Defending Animal Rights Today & Tomorrow (DARTT)

The DARTT collective is a small, Washington, D.C.-based direct action collective that has unofficial ties to the international SHAC campaign. DARTT maintains a website with little information about the history of the organization or its constituents. Instead, the web site primarily serves as a community resource with a “DARTT board” open to user posts, a detailed repository of DC protest laws and National Lawyers Guild contacts, upcoming events, and resources including local groups, prisoner support networks, and leftist news outlets. The campy phrasing throughout the site retains a sense of play, tagging slogans on each of the resource tabs. Some of these include, “There is no

JUSTICE! Just US!” “We will never back down, never compromise and WE WILL

ALWAYS WIN!” and the phrase “Taking Aim at animal exploitation” written across a picture of a billiards board in the “DARTT board” section (Defending Animal Rights

Today & Tomorrow 2011). The collective is decentralized, non-hierarchical, and thus does not have central leadership figures. The website reflects this lateral structure, and to the downfall of its clarity, does not have key individuals identified to contact. It is only through attending several demonstrations and participating in several other protests in the

D.C. area (not affiliated with the animal liberation movement) that I became familiar with those individuals. Because of increased government repression against SHAC, DARTT

66 maintains they have no affiliation with the international campaign (Defending Animal

Rights Today & Tomorrow 2011). This denounced affiliation, however, is widely disputed amongst activists and was discussed several times during the demonstrations I attended. DARTT utilizes the SHAC Model to target secondary and tertiary targets of

HLS. DARTT further aligns itself with SHAC by following the campaign’s target agenda. The SHAC campaign identifies a targeted corporation that DARTT then targets on a local level. During the home demonstrations I attended with DARTT, the SHAC campaign was in the midst of targeting Astra Zeneca.

The Bunny Alliance

The Bunny Alliance is an international anti-vivisection campaign that relies on direct action. The campaign utilizes the SHAC Model in both tactic and strategy, using direct action to pressure secondary and tertiary targets connected to vivisection companies. I attended demonstrations with the collective outside of the Greater

Cincinnati/Kentucky Airport as well as outside the corporate office of ABX Air. Three activists that utilized crowd-sourcing fundraising to travel to cities that had Delta hubs and ABX offices founded the campaign. These activists mapped its first tour called the,

“The U.S. Gateway to Hell Tour,” and focused on mobilizing a local collective to then continue the pressure tactics after the activists left. The activists provided signs, chant sheets, and megaphones. The tour was defined as:

Gateway to Hell is a global anti-vivisection campaign comprised of a network of animal rights groups from across the world. We carry out demonstrations, publicity stunts, conference disruptions and other types of protests against the vital transporters of animals from the breeders to the animal testing laboratories. Our groups are made up of a wide variety of people from all walks of life; anyone is welcome to come take part in our actions – so either get in contact with your

67 local group or start your own and get active for the animals! [Who We Are, What We Do & Why | Gateway to Hell n.d.]

The activists organized a second tour, “Fight or Flight,” that The Bunny Alliance differs from the DARTT campaign in its explicit focus on intersectional coalitions. The DARTT campaign is intersectional in practice in so far as the activists that attend DARTT demonstrations are also visible in other anarchist movements in the Washington, D.C. area.28 The Bunny Alliance, however, explicitly states its stance on other issues. This is found as a declaration on the campaign’s website, “Animal liberation means liberation from any form of oppression. The Gateway to Hell campaign does not tolerate any kind of fascist, racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic attitude or behavior and stands in solidarity with all those individuals and collectives who fight for a more just and equal world” (Who We Are, What We Do & Why | Gateway to Hell n.d.) The intersectional focus was put into practice further with the collaboration of several anarchist antispeciesist collectives on the “Fight or Flight Tour.” The collaboration was articulated through a declaration issued on their website:

This summer, The Bunny Alliance, Resistance Ecology, and the Earth First! Journal present the Fight or Flight Tour, a collaborative nationwide tour with three distinct objectives: 1) to intensify The Bunny Alliance’s campaign against Delta Air Lines and the broader Gateway to Hell campaign to end the transport of animals to labs, 2) to share skills and build connections within the grassroots animal and ecological activist movements, and 3) to promote coalition building and solidarity with a diversity of movements and communities. To increase the mounting pressure on Delta concerning the airline’s intimate relationship with Air France and the transport of animals to labs, the Fight or Flight Tour will hold protests at Delta airports, cargo offices, laboratories, and the houses of board members and executives. We will bring the campaign home to Delta with a large protest at their corporate headquarters, as

28. It is not uncommon for activists to have crossover between movements, particularly with DARTT. The fluidity of the DARTT collective specifically lends itself to a clandestine presence in Washington, D.C. and contributes to the heavy police presence at DARTT demonstrations.

68 well as work with local, national and independent media to place Delta’s involvement in animal testing in the public eye. Tour stops will also include activism workshops, tailored to the needs and interests of each community. General workshop topics will include information about the international effort to end the transport of animal to labs, strategic and effective campaigning, protest tactics, and strengthening inner and cross- movement relationships. Through support from the Civil Liberties Defense Center, the workshops will also feature a collection of legal topics including “know your rights” trainings, security culture basics, tips for doing legal research, and legal observer trainings. In addition to this tour being about the demonstrations and workshops hosted by the touring organizations, this tour was hatched from the desire to empower grassroots activism through meaningful cross-movement solidarity. We want to work with other groups involved in social justice work and provide support in the forms they desire; to build bridges between animal liberation and environmental activists; to start friendships that can grow into powerful alliances; to talk face-to-face with others and embrace what it means to build connections in real life rather than online; and exchange skills and stories of experience among activists. We invite you to join us. Not to just support the work we are doing, but to work with us in turning grassroots activism into a force powerful enough to protect the earth and its inhabitants. (Fight or Flight Tour | Fight or Flight Tour n.d.)

The campaign relies on social media to increase awareness and visibility of the campaign, as well as to recruit activists. The third tour titled, “Grounded in Resistance: Grassroots

Mobilizing for Animal Liberation,” was a collaboration between an activist in The Bunny

Alliance and an activist from Resistance Ecology. While in Portland, Oregon in 2014, I attended the second Resistance Ecology conference after attending the Earth First!

Rendezvous. The conference was a served as a meet up for activists to engage in dialogue that builds and reinforces coalitions. In addition, many of the presentations focused on sharing skill sets to be used in campaigns. The partnership between the Bunny Alliance and Resistance Ecology maintain the paramount focus on intersectionality.

69 Resistance Ecology

Resistance Ecology focuses on strengthening grassroots movements, creating and strengthening networks, engaging in direct action campaigns, and publishing critical analyses in the Resistance Ecology journal available online. Although the collective engages in direct action and partners with campaigns, Resistance Ecology is more focused on facilitating critical thought and dialogue to maximize movement effectiveness. The focus, similar to the Bunny Alliance, is explicitly intersectional.

The organizers state this goal on their website:

We aspire to create a forum to unite animal liberationists, land defenders, and organizers to share skill sets and resources, to report and recruit, to coordinate campaigns, and to promote solidarity, coalition organizing and mass movement building against the structures that underpin animal use and ecological destruction on the continent— Euro-settler colonialism, white supremacy, patriarchy, capitalism, neoliberalism, and border imperialism. We challenge the professionalization, corporate assimilation, consumer- orientation, and one-dimensional analysis of the so-called animal “rights” movement in the west that is founded in positions of social power and is made possible through colonialism, capitalism, and patriarchy. The goal of the conference is to identify these analytical and structural barriers within the animal liberation movement as barriers that prevent us from creating the radical analysis, solidarity, and mass movement necessary to affect meaningful change for animals. Resistance Ecology intends to help shape the new wave of animal and ecological activism in the United States…We want to progress beyond the conventional one-dimensional analysis and structure of mobilization and advocacy that has long been our calling card. Animal liberation and radical ecology do not need to be isolated, disparate, ahistorical, and fragmented movements. They can and must become part of the language and dialogue of social justice. The alternative is to foster a movement that is multi-layered, unified, diverse and intersectional. We must understand that social, economic, cultural, environmental, historical, and political factors operate together in complex and intersecting ways. Accordingly, animal and ecological activists need to adopt an approach of solidarity organizing and coalition building. We

70 must build supportive relationships with a broad spectrum of social and political struggle. [Resistance Ecology n.d.]

Through the movement magazine, annual national conference, and facilitation of networks and tours, Resistance Ecology serves as an analytic tool and organizing vehicle to unite the oftentimes-severed connections between animal liberationists and land defenders that share a fundamental anarchist and antispeciesist politic.

Marineland Animal Defense (MAD)

Different than the other campaigns included in this study, the MAD campaign is a grassroots campaign solely focused on the closing of one specific marine amusement park, Marineland Canada, located in St. Catharines, Canada. Marineland Canada, founded by John Holer, opened in 1961 as an entertainment and educational center that houses marine mammals year round. The park has been the site of much controversy and target of demonstrations from the anti-captivity movement long before the Marineland

Animal Defense campaign was around. In 2009, a local animal advocacy organization,

Niagara Action for Animals, concluded a legal battle that had put restraints on their ability to hold demonstrations outside the facility. Momentum was building in the area as the Niagara Action for Animals held 2-3 demonstrations during the summer and activists held educational workshops about the history of the animal liberation movement,

“…specifically the Save the Newchurch Guinea Pigs, Save the Hillgrove Cats and the

Stop Huntingdon Animal Cruelty Campaigns. These campaigns…were all grassroots animal liberation campaigns that focused on building community and increasing pressure against animal use industries” (Marineland Animal Defense n.d.) The first MAD demonstration took place on the season’s opening day for Marineland Canada on May 14,

71 2011 with 40 activists. Throughout the 2011 season, MAD held over a dozen demonstrations and established itself as a dedicated campaign with a full demonstration schedule, website, social media presence, logos and slogans and a stronger support base.

In 2012, the campaign held an Opening Day demonstration outside of a closed

Marineland Canada. One week before opening day, the park announced they would push back opening day. Over 100 activists gathered outside the park and traveled throughout the heavy-tourist Niagara Falls area. Seven former employees of Marineland Canada joined the MAD campaign and disclosed information regarding the deplorable conditions inside the park that led to the pushed-back Opening Day. The story was given to the press, and the following the publication a MAD demonstration had over 500 activists joined in the struggle. On Closing Day 2012, over 800 activists gathered and were rallied by the keynote from former dolphin trainer (most notably to several of the dolphins used in Flipper) Ric O’Barry. The activists spontaneously jumped the turnstiles and marched through the park and ultimately shun down the final dolphin show of the year. The 2012-

2013 season at Marineland Canada faced an increased level of both legal pressure and police presence. Targets of these aims have exercised transparency with publishing the lawsuits, “Between December 2012 and July 2013 6 lawsuits were filed- against activists

(including the MAD campaign), against ex employees and against the Toronto Star who ran the investigative series against the facility, claiming a total amount of damages in excess of $12 dollars” (Marineland Animal Defense n.d.) Despite the legal pressure, over

1,000 activists attended the Opening Day demonstration in 2013, the second largest animal advocacy demonstration in Canadian history. In response, the Co-Founder of the

MAD campaign, Anonymous A, in conjunction with MAD, were brought to court for an

72 injunction hearing and to secure a limited court order against the campaign and

Anonymous A.

The campaign continues to utilize social media to garner international support, as well as maintain momentum during the off seasons. Anonymous A has been very public regarding the Strategic Lawsuit Against Public Participation (SLAPP) lawsuits.

Anonymous A has also taken on both symbolic and physical leadership roles on the website and during demonstrations. He was my main contact with the MAD campaign and housed me when I traveled to St. Catharines, Canada for the demonstrations.

Animal Liberation Front (ALF)

The ALF is a nonviolent direct action, clandestine moniker adopted by individuals that engage in direct action in defense of other-than-human animal and follow the agreed-upon principles. The principles can be found on the North American Press Office website:

To liberate animals from places of abuse, i.e., laboratories, factory farms, fur farms, etc., and place them in good homes where they may live out their natural lives, free from suffering. To inflict economic damage to those who profit from the misery and exploitation of animals. To reveal the horror and atrocities committed against animals behind locked doors, by performing direct actions and liberations. To take all necessary precautions against harming any animal, human and nonhuman [F A Q ‘s » North American Animal Liberation Press Office n.d.]

One cannot become a member of the ALF because there is no centralized membership or leader. The only thing that unites individuals under the auspices of the ALF is the use or advocacy of direct action to liberate animals. This includes (but is not limited to) direct rescue, property destruction, undercover investigation, and blockades that target individuals and corporations that participate in animal abuse. Through the use of direct

73 action, activists who commit an action in the name of the ALF do so to save as many animals as possible and directly disrupt the practice of animal abuse while inflicting significant economic loss. The long-term aim is to end animal exploitation by forcing animal abuse companies out of business.

The ALF guidelines claim that the use of property destruction as nonviolence relies on the anarchist principles that all property is theft, capitalism is violence, and interrupting these mechanisms is thus a method to interrupt violence.(Proudhon 1840; Bakunin 1882;

Graeber 2004; Amster et al. 2009; Bonanno 1999) The ALF guidelines strictly state that activists must take all precautions not to harm any animal (human or otherwise) during their act of liberation. Because ALF actions may be against the law, activists work anonymously, either in small groups or individually, and do not have any centralized organization or coordination.

The information available about activists who have committed direct actions under the ALF are put forth through the North American Animal Liberation Press Office

(NAALPO) and websites oftentimes in the form of the communiqué. Communiqués serve as an important tool to both contextualize the action and articulate the aims of the action

(Michael Loadenthal 2015). In defending their choice to adopt nonviolent direct action, the ALF press office cites reference to other liberation movements that violated laws that were already unjust, such as the law the racist segregation laws, the anti-Semitic

Nuremberg Laws, and the South African apartheid. Similar to the argument regarding moral madness by Elie Weisel, the NAALPO emphasizes the urgency of the movement because it is life and death for the animals. The ALF stands unique among animal liberation collectives because of their challenge to capitalism through illegal direct action,

74 their interest in destroying the material property used as mechanisms in exploitation while upholding a strict nonviolent policy and alignment with civil disobedience, that appear most threatening to the state. In the sections that follow, the ALF is unique in the discussion because of its clandestine and presumed illegality within the discourses of social movements.

269Life

The 269Life collective is an Israeli-based animal liberation group that relies on the tactic of political theatre in public spaces as direct action. The collective gained international attention when 3 activists, two Israelis and one from Russia, had the number

269 branded with hot iron onto their skin in the heavily populated Rabin Square in Tel

Aviv, Israel. The video of the activists, along with the story about the “269 Calf,” gained international attention. The group draws its name from a rescued calf that embodies both inspiration and pain for animal liberationists. Anonymous activists rescued a male calf from a facility outside Tel Aviv whom had the numbers “269” branded into his skin. The calf was rescued shortly before his scheduled slaughter date in June of 2013. Although the calf was rescued, the calf’s branded identity of “269” reifies the violent objectification and dismemberment process of becoming an absent referent.(Adams 2010;

Adams 2004; Adams and Donovan 1995; Donovan and Adams 2007) Feminist author,

Carol Adams, put forth the concept of absent referent in her exploration of violence against animals and women. In her groundbreaking Master’s Thesis and subsequent book, “The Sexual Politics of Meat: A Feminist-Vegetarian Critical Theory,” Adams demonstrates the linguistic and psychological fracturing that industries rely on to separate

75 the individual living beings from the dead commodities they produce.29 The cognitive dissonance between the dead animal and the absent referent erase the violence inherent in the loss of life:

Behind every meal of meat is an absence: the death of the animal whose place the meat takes. The "absent referent" is that which separates the meat eater from the animal and the animal from the end product. The function of the absent referent is to keep our "meat" separated from any idea that she or he was once an animal, to keep the "moo" or "cluck" or "baa" away from the meat, to keep something from being seen as having been someone. [Adams 2010:27]

The symbolic use of the “269 Calf” in the group’s name and advocacy, however, is the only connection to Adams’ concept of the absent referent. The tactics used by 269Life are violent against humans and rely on the same oppressive theatre used by People for the

Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA).30 The 269Life demonstrations have included hot iron branding; using a blood-painted breast pump to forcibly “milk” a human animal in public after appearing to steal her infant and put the baby in a cage, and kidnapping a woman and assault her alongside train tracks before forcibly branding her upper thigh.

Activists around the world have joined the 269Life group and filmed such videos since being inspired by the initial brandings in 2012.

29. I have previously published and presented on the ways in which the absent referent creates a cognitive dissonance for consumption. The concept has also provided a valuable lens to integrate theories of intersectionality into critiques of speciesism. One of the most noteworthy publications is in Adam’s 20th anniversary book celebrating the ways in which “The Sexual Politics of Meat” has influenced activists and scholars. My chapter in “Defiant Daughters: 21 Women on Art, Activism, Animals, and the Sexual Politics of Meat,” explores the connections between gendered and sexual violence and reproduction. Specifically, I utilize the narrative of my own experience breastfeeding and the processes used to [re]produce breast milk- based products from other species (Grubbs and Adams 2013).

30. PETA has been the subject of many critiques from activists for their reliance and reproduction of sexist, racist, classist, ableist, and heteronormative ideologies. Their public protests often feature naked women, fat-shaming, a glorification of heteronormative violence, and the reappropriation of religious, ethnic, and racial genocide. I have published and presented these critiques in various venues, including the National Women’s Studies Association Annual Conference, the National Popular Culture Association Annual Conference, and as the keynote speaker at the Sex, Gender, Species Conference sponsored by Wesleyan University in 2011.

76 The group defines itself through its tactic of political theatre while also establishing itself as a direct action, liberationist, and movement because:

…injustice is much too insidious, and the pernicious ideology of human supremacy is much too ingrained in our psyche. We must dedicate as much of our time and effort as possible towards the liberation struggle. We must act and express our views as loud and in the most penetrating manner possible…Change will come once a cultural shift occurs…to overthrow speciesism. Instead of a futile pursuit for marginal popularity, and being irrationally opposed to using antagonistic tactics, we should aspire instead to subvert the status quo…we must therefore demand change, rather than beg for it. Our goal is to destroy the fundamental thinking that allows this exploitative system to exist. [269Life n.d.]

269Life goes on to establish itself as a reactionary group that not only welcomes critique from the status quo, but also from “fence-sitting vegans/vegetarians.” The strategies of animal advocacy are challenged by 269Life as they argue little progress has come from the tactics used by the movement thus far:

In light of the marginal progress we have achieved these past decades, the docile and accommodating strategy which aims to win over some potential fence-sitting vegans/vegetarians seems highly inappropriate…It is of little importance if we are liked at this stage of our struggle; instead, we need to focus on forcing our agenda into the center stage of public awareness. Time is our main foe: each passing minute means the death of countless individuals. Agitation is preferable to the deafening silence, which permeates and accommodates the highly profitable venture of the animal exploitation industry. Our attitude and tactics should align with our rhetoric. Pleading with people to adopt a vegan diet based chiefly on environmental, human rights, human health or other selfish anthropocentric concerns is, in reality, a subconscious admission of defeat. We must always take great care when bringing up those kinds of peripheral matters, and never forget where the focal point should lay or who the real victims are (hint: it's not the diseased overweight guy with a mouthful of dead flesh). [269Life n.d.]

Importantly, the group clearly states why they choose to use violent tactics in public spaces: We aim to bring the pain and horror other animals face each and every day out of the suppressed darkness and into the realm of everyday life. The animal holocaust

77 is ever expanding and is expected to double in size(!) by 2050, as it did these past 30 years. Nowadays, most people are well aware of what is being done to other animals, and yet remain apathetic in the face of the atrocities committed in their name, even after witnessing the utmost graphic evidence. Awareness campaigning is simply not enough. Our message needs to become considerably more confrontational and, due to the monumental task at hand, our focus and resolve must be, first and foremost, channeled towards demolishing speciesism. We must engrave the 269 symbol in the collective consciousness. It is a symbol easy to distribute and duplicate, which allows us to communicate a radical message without relying solely on biased media outlets. With such control over our message, we can create viral conduits of communications by popularizing the 269 symbol through ever more daring and creative means. It is time to bring the fight to the streets, it is time for the line to be clearly drawn. Victory is achieved through persistence and consistency. We must remember to stay open-minded and look for ways to be as efficient and as effective as possible for the animals. Circumstances are constantly changing, and so we must always be alert and flexible, using any means available to our advantage, as well as building a substantial and united oppositional force.

The group makes the final plea for action, insisting that the process of “engraving the 269 symbol in the collective consciousness,” does not necessarily have to mean burning it into the flesh of activists:

269life is what we make of it. It can be sprayed on a wall, hanged over a bridge, rendered in 3D animation, inked under our skin, printed on mass-produced stickers or posters... It's up to you to incorporate it into your life and art, and to disseminate it using your individual talents and capabilities. The options are limitless and creativity and imagination are key assets in this war of liberation. We are all 269. [269Life n.d.]

I archived the dialogues within social media between activists about the tactic and the group itself. The anarchist antispeciesist movement, in its aim at intersectional and coalitional politics, remains divided on the inclusion of Israeli activists in the movement.

Through social media, there have been very polarizing debates regarding the liberatory politics toward other-than-human animals in Israel and the proliferation of repressive

78 violence against human animals, namely Palestinians. The data from 269Life included in this study is sourced from raw video footage provided by activists, first-hand accounts on activist blogs, and the interactive discourse archived through social media.

Border crossings and Marineland Animal Defense

The first entry to Canada to participate in the Marineland Animal Defense

Opening Day Demonstration in May 2013 was marked by the challenges of intentionality and queering privileged spaces. The US/Canada border crossing became a site of tension between the practical desire to enter the country without any issues and the political commitments to disrupting systems of privilege31. My daughter, Emory, was asleep in the backseat of the car when I pulled up to the Border Patrol Booth. Perhaps as an obvious site of privilege, I had assumed we would breeze through the security check. It was after

10 p.m. and the Border Officer seemed irritated to be at work. She shined the flashlight in the backseat and scanned every inch of the car while monotonously reciting a series of questions. I answered quickly and with a rehearsed tone. “Yes, I am authorized to drive the car.” “I packed the car myself.” “I am visiting The Falls and staying at a hotel.” As the questions became more personalized, I realized she was clearly concerned that I was taking an infant out of the country. She looked at me with concern, “Where is her other parent? Is he your husband?” When my answers did not satisfy her suspicions, she asked me to pull forward, park in Spot 12, and step inside the building for further interrogation.

I woke Emory and quickly ran inside. It had dropped about ten degrees since the sunset, to add insult to injury. We got inside and took our place in line with the other precarious

31. The data collected during this time period is May 17-21, 2013.

79 border-crossers. The officer called me to the counter and began asking a series of questions, “‘Does her other parent know that you are entering Canada?’ ‘Where is he?’

‘What do you do for a living now?’ ‘Where are you staying?’ ‘When will you be returning with her?’” (Border Officer 2013). The heteronormative assumptions embedded in these questions were glaring. As I stood across the counter with my daughter and my

23-year old sister, I wondered why they assumed there was a father. Or, perhaps they assumed we were the lesbians Thelma and Louise attempting to kidnap this young child?

Without a wedding band, I was not physically marked as married. I rarely wear my wedding band, and intentionally do not wear it when I attend political convergences. I rely on strategic essentialism by placing my pregnant white body in front of riot cops, however wearing my wedding band while crossing a border to minimize any threats merely reproduces heteronormative privilege. Gender and class manifest in complicated ways for an activist. As I stood there and thought through my answers, I could not help but weigh the ideological implications of my answers. Do I challenge heteronormative privilege and lie about my marital status? And what about the larger implications of not wearing a wedding band despite the reality that I am, in fact, legally married to a cisgender man? Is it inauthentic to closet this identity and simply code-switch when necessary?

Ultimately, I made the practical decision that it was almost 11p.m. and I did not want to subject myself to the coercive powers of these officers. I began referring to “her father” as “my husband” and insisted we can call him to verify his approval to take her out of the country. In a blatant exercise of privilege, the officers never verified my marital status, that the man I suggested we call was her father, nor did they actually speak

80 to said father on the phone. Instead, the officers gave me a patriarchal lecture about traveling without my husband, made a few jokes about two women driving late at night, and suggested I remember to bring a letter from my child’s father granting permission to leave the country prior to the next trip prior to the next trip (Border Officer 2013).

Perhaps my lecture would have been different if I appeared less educated, or was not a

5’3 slim blonde white woman accompanied by my 5’3” slim blonde sister and child.

We had arranged to stay at one of the main organizers and co-founders of

Marineland Animal Defense, Anonymous A. Through Facebook messenger, he provided directions to his house and instructions on how to get in if he was not there. We arrived around 11:30p.m, and found him on the couch watching television with his housemate.

His fiancé was upstairs changing the sheets and preparing our room. The house was shared between 3 humans, 7 cats, and 2 dogs and smelled like fresh basil. There was not a poster to be had, nor a book or political ephemera to mark the leanings of those who live there. A quick tour of the kitchen reveals the usual suspects: almond milk, potatoes, tofu, plenty of Asian sauces, and various vegan accruements. On the stove was simmering homemade dog food. With our cat allergies and my slight fear of felines, we went upstairs to shoo the cats out of the bedroom. Two cats under the bed, a dog scratching his ears outside the door, and a little black cat under the nightstand; clearly we were in the home of an anarchist antispeciesist. We came downstairs and our host had his phone on the table. His Facebook application was open and he seemed anxious. In our Facebook exchanges prior to arrive, he mentioned his excitement and that he had just received a call from his lawyer. “My lawyer called and was nervous to tell me there was a fire at the veterinarian’s office. He wanted to make sure I was home and with people! You know,

81 this afternoon we put something up on the page about how the vet was giving out drugs to the vets and employees. So when we heard about the fire, it seemed like a convenient way to destroy records” (Powell 2013a). We talked a bit about the campaign and our excitement to be here and help.

I struggled with the desire to take advantage of this time to talk in person and the need to put my child to sleep. The 10-hour journey from Ohio to St. Catharines had left my daughter exhausted and in need of my attention. I knew this was a rare moment where

I could conduct an interview in-person with a lead organizer that was facing a SLAPP lawsuit for his activism. We sat downstairs together and talked about the plan for tomorrow and how we could help with the pre-demonstration planning. As we were talking, my daughter began to cry. I interrupted the conversation and excused myself to go upstairs and put her to sleep. I said that I intended to come back downstairs to talk, assuming she went to sleep quickly. By the time she was asleep, it was 2 a.m. and everyone else had gone to bed. This was one of the first and more critical moments in my research where I was faced with the tension of being a mother-in-the-field. It was one of the first moments that I had to choose between gathering research and meeting the needs of my child. My sister offered to take Emory upstairs, but acknowledged that she would be unable to put Emory to sleep because she relies on breastfeeding. I have never looked back at the decision to go upstairs with my child rather than interview Anonymous A that night with regret. I look back at that moment with reflexivity as a transformative experience that informs the ways in which I understand intersectional barriers knowledge production (Crenshaw 1989; Crenshaw 1991; Collins 1991; Collins 2006). I maneuver

82 both privileged access and barriers to knowledge production as a college-educated cisgender white female with children from a heterosexual married standpoint.

I spent most of the night awake with Emory, nursing and pacing with her, trying to keep her cries from waking up the entire house. Rather than feeling refreshed and ready to gather more data, I stumbled out of the room with a zombie-like gate at 7a.m. to discover an empty house. We packed up our things and left the house to find a nearby coffee shop in order to access a WiFi signal. For financial reasons, I only used the free

WiFi capacities of my cellular phone rather than network data. I relied on WiFi-based instant communication applications to connect with others while in St. Catharines,

Canada. I sent a message to our host through Facebook messenger. After a few hours of exploring the area, I had not received a message back from our host. We decided to head back to the house and inadvertently ran into our host walking home. He was heading to the Animal Defense League (ADL) office and reluctantly allowed us to tag along. We walked about 15 minutes and he went into great detail about the movement and legal issues. Anonymous A was served with a series of lawsuits totaling $1.5 million and told to immediately cease the MAD campaign32. I asked if there was a National Lawyers

Guild-type organization in St. Catharines to provide free legal defense. He claimed that

32. In an interview with Because We Must, Powell described the lawsuit, “In December 2012 the captive animal facility Marineland Canada filed two separate, but related, suits against me and Marineland Animal Defense – one a $1.5 million damages suit and the other an injunction case. Overall their civil litigation is considered by many to be a SLAPP suit or a Strategic Lawsuit Against Public Participation (SLAPP) – basically an attempt to use the legal system to either criminalize your advocacy or shut you up. Since 2004 they’ve engaged in 7 similar suits – claiming damages in excess of $13 million dollars suing activists, ex employees and a national news media who ran an investigative series on the facility – while also threatening a host of others with similar suits (including the Ontario Society of the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals who was investigating them at the time)” (Taylor 2003:164).

83 animal advocacy lawyers are already struggling to find professional work, and that this case would be detrimental to those efforts. Anonymous A had difficulty finding an attorney, and claimed that every time he speaks to his, he receives a patronizing (well- intentioned) lecture. Though the interaction was not recorded, I made note of a particularly interesting remark, “You can either get a lawyer that charges very little and agrees with what you are doing, or at least doesn’t have anything big against it, or you can use a really good lawyer that you know will win- but will try to give you a lecture about why you should lobby” (Powell 2013b). Interestingly, Anonymous A had received a lot of interpersonal challenges from activists he thought of as friends following the lawsuit. He felt like the further he pushed the MAD campaign with confrontational rhetoric following the lawsuit, the less support he had from activists. According to

Anonymous A, there is a divide within the small anarchist community in Toronto and the even smaller antispeciesist community in St. Catharines. We continued the casual conversation until we reached the ADL office, located within an unassuming office suite.

I took stock of my surroundings: a dark-haired woman at a desk repurposing painters buckets into donation pails, a young woman sitting in a chair to the right was playing on her cell phone, a woman ironing recently ink-pressed sweatshirts, a woman sitting at the desk across from a man covered in tattoos and with a septum ring. After a quick survey and presumptive guesswork, the average age of individuals was 23. The man had just arrived from New York, though is a Chicago native, runs a punk rock solidarity organization Punk Rock Karaoke Northeast. Perhaps it was the baby sleeping in the carrier strapped to my chest, or the fact that my sister and I entered a closed space the night before their largest demonstration of the year, but not a single person looked up.

84 After a few moments, we made eye contact with the man from Chicago and he seemed to share an awkward sense of displacement. His point of contact was also Anonymous A, who provided a brief introduction for us when we arrived. I went to each individual and offered to help with whatever task they were doing, and was met with either silence or lack of eye contact each time. I unstrapped Emory from my chest and placed her on the floor to crawl. After a few minutes went by, I offered to help the woman constructing the donation bins and she accepted. As I pulled off strips of tape, I overheard two other women in the room going through Facebook ‘Friend Requests’ to confirm the identities of those requesting. Without noting whom they were referencing specifically, they would sporadically proclaim troll or sketchy. Another woman said they should delete anyone that doesn’t have at least 5 mutual friends with the organizers. One of the activists mentioned they were hungry, and suggested they collect an order from a bar around the corner. Once the order was collected and called in, they began debating who would pick up the food. Though my sister and I did not contribute to the food order, we watched as they each averted eye contact and did not volunteer to pick it up.

We spoke up and offered to go pick it up, knowing it would give us an opportunity to find food somewhere else. We returned with their order, but it was starting to get dark. Emory started to fuss and the cries of a baby were not necessarily the preferred sounds during the pre-demonstration preparations. Without any idea where we were and no cell phone service, we requested that Anonymous A draw us a map to use on our walk back. The map was more of a pictorial than an atlas, as he could not remember specific names or turns. I attempted to show my discomfort with navigating our way back without a clear direction and waited to receive an offer for him to escort us.

85 Overwhelmed with the tasks of preparation for the demonstration, he did not respond.

With a bit of hesitation, we set off to find our house. We spent over an hour trying to navigate the should-be-ten-minute-walk without any familiar landmarks. Eventually, we stopped into the police station to ask for directions. Once we bypassed the inquiries about why we were in town and whom we were staying with, we discovered the house was not too far. When we arrived back at our host’s home, we found his housemate cleaning up after dinner. She was friendly and welcoming, and seemed surprised that we had walked home alone. I mentioned that the other activists were unfriendly and disinterested in engaging in conversation. She responded with a smile, “We talk about that all the time.

We are like, “They are so socially awkward to anyone they don’t know. What are we going to do with them?” (Wallace 2013). She asked about the age of my daughter, and said she was interested in having children at some point. After a brief conversation,

Emory began to cry and required my attention. I took her in the other room to breastfeed, while we also looked for a place to stay. Although our hosts reiterated how much they would like for us to stay, I worried that she might keep them up all night. Given that the next day was such a pivotal event, I did not want to be in the way that night. The first two days in St. Catharines confirmed my insecurities that the ethnographic study would prove challenging within the personal constraints of motherhood, in particular.

The following day we gathered with hundreds of others outside of the Marineland

Amusement Park. I left my Driver’s License and U.S. Passport in the hotel, stuffed $40 in my pocket, and took my cell phone. I chose to not wear any jewelry, pulled my blonde hair back into a ponytail, and paired my black skinny jeans with a Support the A.L.F. t- shirt and Saucony sneakers. Emory was dressed in a Marineland Animal Defense

86 sweatshirt that was made the night before, black leggings, and a much smaller pair of

Saucony sneakers. The energy was palpable, with hundreds of activists of all ages gathered along the narrow stretch of grass that faced Marineland’s entrance and parking lot. I ran into the activists I had met at the headquarters, and also a handful of activists I had met at previous political actions. Interestingly, several strangers approached me and introduced themselves as “Facebook stalkers” that had seen my comments on the MAD

Facebook page. There was a row of tables set up, each featuring different ephemera and baked goods. The Niagara Baking Militia had prepared a series of delicious vegan treats,

MAD activists had heat pressed clothing for sale, and there was a table covered in flyers and leaflets from local campaigns. There was a large pop-up tent stationed in the middle of the grass with an amp, microphone, and large inflatable orca whale. The banner for

MAD was prominently hung above the tent. Several activists had set up a sign-making station for activists to create large posters that was adjacent to the “Kids Area” that featured games and art supplies. In addition, a local child was planning on breaking the world record for the most folded origami whales in one sitting33. The organizers encouraged people to arrive in the morning, and set up to stay for the Park’s operating hours. The speakers were scheduled for the afternoon, ensuring the momentum would remain the entire day.

The speakers included Anonymous A, three children, and a hip-hop artist.

Anonymous A’s opening remarks fostered the sense of community amongst activists and

33. A local child, Vijay, had taken an active role in the MAD campaign. Vijay was one of the featured speakers at the demonstration, and also declared his intent to break the world record described above. Vijay invited activists to contribute to this aim, and also had coordinated to have his effort documented by the Guinness Record staff.

87 provided legal parameters for the day’s events. Through social media and public demonstrations, Anonymous A is recognized as the leader of the MAD campaign and a prominent anarchist antispeciesist in the area. The proclamation he delivered at the beginning of the demonstration reified this perceived leadership.

I am going to try and make this as quick as I possibly can, and as painless as possibly as I can. But I need everyone’s attention for the next little bit. And I need people to pass along this information on to others as they come in. So, as most people are aware, I think, at this point, Marineland is very litigious. So that means they want to go to court a lot. They sued five people at this point They are claiming damages of a total of $13 million. One of those people being sued is myself.34

In many ways the proclamations he delivers at demonstrations are a fracture from

Anonymous A’s anti-authoritarian politics. During the proclamations, Anonymous A assumes an authoritative role and provides guidelines to other activists. He identifies legal parameters and suggests how activists should interact with law enforcement.

Although I saw several women working at the headquarters in preparation of the demonstration, none of these women delivered instructional proclamations to the large crowd. There were, however, many women with bullhorns delivering chants and proclamations to Marineland customers on the other side of the fence.

The demonstration took an interesting turn when the children speakers came to the microphone35. Each child provided a different rhetorical argument against

34. The full text of this proclamation can be found in the Appendix:A (MarineLand Opening Day Demonstration -May 18, 2013 “Know Your Rights” n.d.).

88 Marineland, though some were more articulate than others. One female 9-year-old child, in particular, described her desire for justice as a “thirst.36”

My thirst, I thirst for the freedom of certain animals. There are the animals you think are happy. You pay a lot of money to go and see. I thirst for them to be treated well. You may think of Marineland as a fun place to gather and enjoy a fun day. But have you seen what they look like up close? The terror and horror in their eyes What happens behind the scenes is not what you think. How they are treated won’t be a secret, after you listen to me. Good morning, protestors.37

At this point, the activists cheer out and begin to applaud. I heard whispers around me from activists that they were surprised to hear a child recognize these issues at her age.

The speaker went on to describe how the animals are kept at Marineland, how her teacher is also an activist with MAD, and her resolve for the liberation of these specific marine animals. She named John Holer as the perpetrator of violence that is responsible and insists that through a financial boycott, the park can be shut down. This proclamation provided a detailed account of marine animal poaching and the artificial (poor) conditions of captivity. The proclamation both begins and ends with an impetus for change, a call to action that can satisfy a thirst for liberation.

In contrast to Anonymous A, the child does not insert pauses or use phrases that elicit a response from the audience. She articulates the unethical treatment of marine

35. I took audio recordings from the demonstration, and also archived video footage posted from a

demonstrator on YouTube (MarineLand Opening Day Demonstration - May 18, 2013 “I Thirst” n.d.).

36. An image of the speaker can be found in the Appendix:B

37. The full text of this proclamation can be found in the Appendix:C.

89 animals while neglecting to specify specific behavioral commands. The only command implied is to economically and physically boycott the park, as her family chose to do five years prior. The proclamation leaves the audience in awe of her rhetorical devices and emotional maturity. I listen as two women speak behind me, “Now there is an activist in the making.” “I wish I would have been as aware when I was her age.” The women continue to trade surprised remarks about the young girl, focusing on the emotional appeals in her proclamation. Two other children get up to speak and also point to their decision to boycott the park after visiting. Each child that speaks once visited the park with their family, and become the voice in their family to insist they did not return. The children also spoke to their concern for the animals because of their isolation and small, artificial tanks. Interestingly, however, all three children speakers focused explicitly on

Marineland. The children did not make any larger arguments about speciesism, let alone authoritarianism.

Between each speaker, there were 5-10 minutes of chants and interactions with patrons of the park. The bullhorns raged as people screamed, ““Your Money, Your fault.

Your ticket, Your fault,” “What do we want? Animal liberation. When do we want it?

Now!’” and “Hey Marineland, What do you say? How many animals have to die today?”

The chants continued as the next speaker prepared. The well-known hip-hop artist, Darius

Mirshahi from Test Their Logik, addresses a range of issues including the displacement of indigenous peoples, animal and ecological exploitation, and capitalism in his lyrics.

On the heels of the young girl’s speech, Mirshahi’s freestyle delivery was assertive and interjected with confrontational language:

I think its so fucking beautiful That we got so many people here.

90 Sorry for my language I forgot. I’m going to try and keep it family friendly and clean. I’m a rapper, though38. (Mirshahi 2013)

His first piece, “Freestylin’ for Freedom,” abandoned the youthful tone set by the previous speakers. As an advocate of confrontational direct action, Mirshahi shifted the focus on marine animals within the park to larger, systemic issues of injustice. In this way, his proclamations reminded the audience, part of whom would not identify as anarchist antispeciesists, that Marineland Animal Defense critiques animal captivity, but also capitalism, speciesism, and authoritarianism. In the opening lines of the freestyle,

Mirshahi uses the anarchist principle and slogan coined by the French anarchist Pierre-

Joseph Proudhon, “Property is theft!” (Proudhon 1840).

The crowd was audibly divided, as some cheered and others began to speak over his proclamation. Seemingly, the activists came together solely to protest Marineland and did

38. The full text of this proclamation can be found in the Appendix:D (MarineLand Opening Day Demonstration - May 18, 2013 “Freestylin For Freedom” 2013).

91 not share the intersectional politics held by MAD organizers or Mirshahi himself. The proclamation continued to name issues of structural violence and displacement:

Murdering and bombing Keep the urban sprawling. More people starving… …Just bondin’ by buildin’ prisons Border wars don't stop them So I’m swinging sledgehammers Till every wall is droppin’… …Land is freedom Property is theft. Burn all the flags Until none of them are left.

The proclamation concludes with a reiteration of the anarchist principle and a call to property destruction. The proclamation was recorded on video and thus I revisited the gestures and behaviors of others while Mirshahi was speaking. Anonymous A sways to the beat as Mirshahi delivers the proclamation and loudly applauds in between versus.

Several activists repeatedly turn toward Anonymous A to monitor his reaction as a sign of approval. At the conclusion of the proclamation, there is a brief pause before the audience responds. The crowd begins to applaud but the unspoken tension in the audience is palpable. Without much delay, Mirshahi transitions into another proclamation that borrows from a track on his last album. The track, “Liberate the Animals,” makes reference not only to direct action, but specifically to the ALF and ELF. Whereas the last proclamation stressed intersectionality and the importance of coalitions between movements, the second proclamation was explicitly about speciesism:

Liberate the animals And the earth too Free the trees Free the roots Free the leaves

92 Free the fruits. Liberate the earth And the animals too. Free the farm Free the land Free them from Marineland, too39. (Mirshahi 2013)

The chorus hones in on larger, systemic issues that the audience does not cohesively share. While I sat on the grass and listened to the proclamations, I surveyed the clothing others had on and what they had brought to eat. The demonstration lasted several hours, and people were encouraged to pack enough with them to stay the entire day. I saw picnics that contained dairy and animal flesh and caught a few adults pouring cow’s milk into children’s cups. There were at least a dozen ALF and ELF shirts and banners, as well as various slogans indicating an antispeciesist and/or anarchist politic. Almost every person holding a bullhorn had political tattoos and facial piercing. The crowd still seemed supportive of Mirshahi, even when he began talking about terrorism rhetoric and property destruction:

ELF, ALF They never caused a death. To save lives They take a lot of risks Liberation of all creation Is their politics. But somehow They are the terror that tops the list? Come on. Who’s really the terrorists? The slaughterhouse arsonists Or the slaughterhouse architects? Would it be terror to burn down Auschwitz?... … You gotta give props to the ALF

39. The full text of this proclamation can be found in the Appendix:5.

93 To SHAC Smash HLS And those that invest No torture, no test. No one is free While others are oppressed. Fight for freedom Until there’s no cages left. (Mirshahi 2013)

The understanding of the proclamation relies on insider knowledge of anarchist antispeciesist campaigns, such as Stop Huntington Animal Cruelty (SHAC) that targets

Huntingdon Life Sciences (HLS), and the Earth Liberation Front (ELF) and the Animal

Liberation Front (ALF). The proclamation makes the moral connection between slaughterhouses and concentration camps, and implies that arsonists destroying these mechanisms of death are (similarly to those who destroyed train tracks during the Shoah) are freedom fighters rather than terrorists. The proclamation not only refuses to accept that anarchist antispeciesists are terrorists; it creates a form of disidentification in which they are freedom fighters. The proclamation again returns to confrontational language that radically departs from the “family-friend” atmosphere during the children presentations:

Milk and meat That’s rape and death. That we eat at our own expense. We are killing the animals, planet, and ourselves. Toxic products We are the toxic problem. We are the source of the products And it’s our water. (Mirshahi 2013)

The audience, though not necessarily visible to an outsider, was divided into two categories of activists; those there to protest Marineland and those there to protest

94 Marineland in part of a larger activist agenda against speciesism and/or authoritarianism.

Anonymous A, the co-founder of MAD and a well-known local activist, was intention with the selection of Mirshahi as a speaker during the demonstration. As an activist, I am aware of the social capital inherent in any captive audience. It is imperative to utilize that space in ways that are both strategic and pragmatic. The children’s presentations were pragmatic. They presented emotional appeals that resonated with activists regardless of their own personal identification with antispeciesism or anarchism. Mirshahi, however, was the strategic element that ultimately established the ideological agenda of MAD in this public setting. His proclamations were direct, explicit, and clearly directed at activists already in support of the ideological agenda. The final proclamation delivered was an excerpt from his newest album that uses the metaphor of a blade of grass growing through the pavement to inspire activists facing political repression. The proclamation served as the emotional coda of the demonstration, ensuring that the audience is reminded that this demonstration was not simply about Marineland. The audience is riled at the concept of a growing, unstoppable revolutionary force that will ultimately persevere in spite of attempts to destroy it:

95 Watering a field40. (Mirshahi 2013)

The empowering proclamation encourages the audience to “Take a pickaxe to the roads,” and insists that anyone can engage with the revolution because, “It’s not where you’re from. It’s where you’re gonna go with the shit goes down” (Mirshahi 2013). Grass, ultimately, represent the potentiality for revolution in spite of systemic barriers.

Can we overgrow? Overthrow this toxic overdose? Open those file doors that keep those undisclosed? …Life revolts, regrows till it shifts. And this paradigm and system is out of time. This whole time, the system was out of line. Mass murder everyday for the dollar sign. Then through the cracks Like the grass to the stone We climb.” (Mirshahi 2013)

The audience loudly applauds as the proclamation ends and the crowd is clearly riled up.

Mirshahi then leads the crowd in a chant, “Shut it down, shut it, shut it, shut it down.”

Those who had gotten up and moved to another area during the proclamation had returned to the makeshift stage. The agenda for the demonstration included closing remarks from international activist and former trainer of the dolphins used in the television show Skipper, Ric O’Barry, who was presented a check on behalf of the BiLLe

Celebrity Challenge for 25,000 Euro to his charity “The Dolphin Project”.

The demonstration then broke from the structured speakers to individual chants and interactions with people on the other side of the fence patronizing Marineland. The organizers dispersed and led the crowd in various chants. The chants were familiar from other demonstrations, modifying the words slightly to target Marineland:

Hey Marineland, what do you say? How many animals have to die today?

40. The full text of this proclamation can be found in the Appendix:6.

96 Their blood, their blood. Their blood is on your hands! Shut it down. Shut it, shut it DOWN. Give them liberty, End captivity! Your money, Your fault. Your ticket, Your fault. What do we want? Animal Liberation! When do we want it? Now! (Grubbs 2013c)

Several of the organizers brought noise amplification devices such as bullhorns, whereas others simply shouted. The chants were directed at anyone on the other side of the fence, but the individual pleas with Marineland customers took a different direction41. Some children shouted to other children, “You should just go home. The animals are so sad in there,” and some adults took a more direct stance, “Don’t be an asshole and teach your kids that captivity is acceptable” (Grubbs 2013c). The signs both perform and archive nonverbal communication within the MAD campaign. The images communicated to those physically present, and continue to communicate through digital communities. The signs included humorous references to popular culture, in addition to aggressive attacks against Marineland and John Holer to produce disidentifactory thoughts42. Toward the end of the demonstration, Anonymous A was asked by a reporter to identify activists that had traveled far distances to attend, and he pointed my direction. I found the article the next day, and was pleased to see that I was among a cohort of travelers that had crossed the border for the demonstration. In terms of maintaining my public commitment, the article indicated my justification for the 500 mile drive, “…Jennifer Grubbs, 28, brought her 13-month-old daughter Emory and sister Samantha, 22, all the way from Cincinnati

“to show solidarity,” she said” (Gordon 2013). The day concluded around 4 p.m. and

Emory had reached her limit in regards to patience. Without a large research budget or

41. Images of protestors and signs can be found in the Appendix:7-8.

42. An image of a sign with a humorous message can be found in the Appendix:I.

97 couches to crash on, we decided to drive through the night back to Cincinnati, Ohio.

Curiously, we did not encounter any resistance crossing the border back into the U.S. despite the lack of documentation from Emory’s father. The inconsistency of regulation, or lack there of, at the border crossing demonstrates the more obvious manifestations of privilege. Upon reflection, it would seem as though the resistance I encountered entering

Canada were more of an exception to these forms of racial, ethnic, cisgender and heteronormative privilege.

A year of social media and another season of Opening Day

The MAD campaign relied heavily on social media to share images, videos, and stories through digital communities. The hashtags provided a linkage to connect these contributions regardless of geographic location, and have even dominated the discourse on Twitter regarding Marineland itself. Utilizing CDA to examine how power is conveyed and challenged through digital media, I examined how activists contribute to the discourse of direct action through popular social media sites. The integration of direct action in digital media provides another medium for activists to not only refuse to submit to the good versus bad protestor framework, but to also engage in digital performances of disidentification outside of that framework. The activists can recapitulate the power of agri-vivisection industries through the rhetorical use of digital media components such as hashtags. For example, the most popular suggestions on Twitter and Instagram for

“Marineland” are those of the Marineland Animal Defense campaign. The commonly used hashtags include, #marchonmarineland, #marineland, #endcaptivity, and

#marinelandad. The Facebook and Instragram account are both

/marinelandanimaldefense, also driving up the page suggestion when users search for

98 Marineland. The images include photographs from demonstrations and memes, which oftentimes rely on satire and humor43. The memes range from edited photographs run through meme generators to professional leaflets posted by MAD activists.

The digital communication, as Muñoz describes with regard to the power of drag performance, attempt to extend the sentiments of possibilities within the political imaginary. Each meme creatively engages with the campaign and larger social movements through affect. In some cases, the Instagram page featured a photo of a stack of fliers for an upcoming demonstration, such as the 2013 Opening Day demonstration44.

The campaign also engaged in online trends such as “Social Media Tuesday,” and

“Throw Back Thursday” to post comical memes on Instagram that combine a direct action claim with a photo of a beady-eyed seal45. Activists were able to engage in online conversations, debates, and networking through posting images and responding to them.

The integration of Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr, and Twitter provide a cross-platform terrain to use multiple forms of digital communication in the creation of a larger, international dialogue. I identified specific account names, and their frequent use of symbols such as # and @ to identify key phrases and campaigns, I used Tag Sleuth,

Wordle, and Tweet Archivist to generate word clouds and examine the linguistic analytics46.

43. Several images can be found in the Appendix:J.

44. The image and Instagram feedback, including the Twitter integration through hashtags, are included in the Appendix:K.

45. The image and Instagram feed, including the Twitter integration through hashtags, are included in the Appendix:L.

99 The digital spaces facilitated a different theatrical stage, one that could mask identities while simultaneously increasing visibility, where activists engaged in and discussed confrontational direct action. Digital spaces blur the perceived boundary between public and private, which was commonly noted by activists in their practice of security culture. A well-known activist posted a public message on Facebook that playfully demonstrates the underlying tension amongst activists to utilize technology as mechanism of dissent without getting caught:

US Customs: You are so stupid. You missed my laptop. Always ready to flag me and copy my hard drive (the border is a Constitution-free zone), you missed the one thing you wanted despite it comprising at least 15% of my luggage, by volume. Note to data smugglers: Make your laptop the same size & color as the bottom of your suitcase and you’re in the clear. (Anonymous 2014b)

The tongue-and-cheek post received over 75 “likes” and the posts engaged in a public critique of State surveillance. It is again not accidental that activists critique State surveillance in explicit ways (the activist also tagged the airport this occurred in) on a digital media site (Facebook) that archives user data and cooperates with the State to provide data on its users. Many activists that I met have pseudonyms as their account name on social media sites, allowing them to engage with these spaces without exposing their identity. Although this can provide a creative outlet to engage with digital media, it also increases the prevalence of trolls and suspicion amongst activists. One particular exchange in 2013 sparked a larger debate about how activists should handle personal

46. The words were identified through preliminary research with the MAD campaign, the Bunny Alliance, 269Life, NAALPO, EF!, and Resistance Ecology. Additional phrases that are not explicitly linked to a campaign include (but are not limited to) #animalliberation, #earthliberation, #govegan, #anarchist, and #greenanarchy.

100 attacks that are from unidentifiable sources. The activist posted the following comment and included the private message someone sent to them:

I wake up to comments, emails, messages, like this pretty much every day now. This is a fake Facebook account that was created in February of this year with the sole purpose of harassing me (I know who it is). The joys of organizing. ‘Hey asshole I see you crumbled like the fucking little wimp you are. You can spin it but you can’t deny you made a deal with [redacted]. Man you are so fucking stupid you are a joke. What story are you going to give about the money those suckers donated to your legal fund which you already spent on yourself. Oh ya and what about your educational fund. Judgment day will come for you and it will be sooner than you think. Have fun asshole.’ (Anonymous 2013a)

The user comments focused on exposing the individual who sent the message, but did not elicit a larger discussion about the accusations. Seemingly, the activist that posted the comment increased credibility by disclosing the attack because it implied the claims were outlandish.

Digital media was also utilized as a way to send instant communication to other activists warning them of potential threats. Specifically, The Bunny Alliance maintains a

Facebook page and has posted several “snitch alerts” with information about government informants. In July 2014, they posted a photograph of an individual with red text overlapping, “HEADS UP. SNITCH DAVID ARGRANOFF HAS MOVED TO

SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA,” with the following text in the box above:

Snitch alert! David Agranoff has moved to Southern California, so activsts there should watch out for him. You can learn more about his history of being a government informant and turning his back on activists here: http://www.greenisthenewred.com/blog/dave-agranoff-informant-elf- bloomington-5723.

The activist-run site, Indymedia.org, is also the host of direct action announcements, follow-up, and archived video. One of the most visible anarchist antispeciesist activists the Washington, D.C. area is known for riding his bicycle to demonstrations, capturing

101 video footage that is excessively narrated, and riding off if confrontation with police escalates. He has archived hundreds of home demonstrations with DARTT, the Occupy

Movement, and direct actions that challenge authoritarianism and speciesism.

Throughout the ethnographic study, I ran into this individual and still question if he is an activist in solidarity or if his videos serve a more malignant purpose. Digital media, however, provides another layer of activist accountability. Because I followed these campaigns closely, I received constant communication from other activists that exposed suspicious activity. In a way, this created a stronger sense of self-awareness of how I would engage with the data in this study. Specifically, I was intentional with my documentation and reluctance to you audio or visual recording devices. It would have been immobilizing if I was suspected of cooperating with the State and then blasted through digital media as an informant. In one post that was shared on Facebook and

Twitter, an activist called into question the decision for an animal liberation conference to host a problematic member of the AELM:

What are peoples thoughts on this? On the one hand going and speaking out against [redacted] and their ilk at the conference (which I can only assume will happen) might be a good idea and/or might help sway some of the people going to this conference who aren’t knowledgeable about the issues involved or don’t know about them (although that could happen without formally lending your name to the conference). On the other hand, it seems like there has been a lot of gauntlets thrown down with people saying they will not go to this conference because [redacted]/[name of conference] to drop [redacted] and [redacted] from the conference. To take part anyway and say it is because you don’t want [redacted] to divide the movement (which is already very clearly divided) feels a bit like an undercutting of those efforts to me. Am I alone or do others feel like this is kind of a cop out? I find all this especially hard to swallow as [redacted] has been very quick to call out and vilify others for working/associating with people who have oppressive politics (which I agree is needed in the AR [animal rights] and Environmental movements), and this is now essentially saying they are going to be involved in a conference that is giving a platform to rampant transphobia. The more I write, the less conflicted I am feeling. I think this is bad on their part. What do others thing about this?

102

Interestingly, the activist shared the official announcement from both the campaign’s website and Facebook that was being called into question. Several users engage in a debate on whether or not the campaign should be called out in a more public physical venue and what mutually-agreed upon principles should animal liberation campaigns share with regard to sexuality and gender identity.

The engagement with digital media, however, is not simply predicated on fear or subordination to the State. Many of the accounts I followed consistently posted confrontational rhetoric, damning condemnations of vivisectors, and explicit calls to mobilize and engage in direct action. I first learned about The Bunny Alliance campaign through a Facebook invitation from someone I did not know that I had shared mutual friends with. The Facebook event specifically named the campaign, the target, and the event time and place. Hundreds of people claimed they intended to attend the event, though only 3 individuals showed up in addition to the organizers. Similarly, The Bunny

Alliance used Facebook to mobilize activists for digital direct action. In a Facebook post that was also sent out via Twitter, The Bunny Alliance shared a Gateway to Hell event,

“ABX Air has plans to transport primates from China into the U.S. for labs on June 2nd.

Help stop this shipment! Check out the below page, send emails (see the info on the page), and spread the word!” (The Bunny Alliance 2014). In addition to using digital media as a mechanism to solicit activists, anarchist antispeciesists can also reimagine and reconfigure the corporate sovereignty awarded through neoliberal capitalism discussed in

Chapter Four: Neoliberal Capitalism and Constructing the Ecoterrorist. The State relies on a neoliberal logic that insists bad protestors are violating deeply held democratic

103 values by engaging in confrontational direct action. In one specific example, Marineland distributed programs to each customer that described the activists with MAD:

Dear Friends, If you have seen protestors outside- we would like to explain. They are members of a fringe, radical animal liberation front that demands the closure of all zoos and aquarium- denying children the opportunity to interact with amazing animals they would likely never see in the wild. Children who see and learn about our animals are more likely to become their defenders as humans continue to encroach on wild habitats. The protestors don’t seem to care about that nor the fact that every independent investigation into Marineland’s animal care has disproven any allegation protestors have brought against us. We love and care deeply for the animals in our trust. You will see that today. (Anonymous 2013b)

The program, without the interaction of digital media, exists as a one-way communication between Marineland and the public (patrons and protestors). However, activists were able to take a picture of the program and share it through digital media to expose the storybook rhetoric that erases the documented violence against animals within

Marineland. The image was shared by several activists and appeared multiple times in my

Twitter feed, Instagram, and on Facebook. One activist posted the image with the caption, “This failure of logic will greet every person who grabs a program at Marineland this afternoon” (Anonymous 2013b). The post received 50 likes within the first ten minutes, and have over 50 comments. The integration of digital media as a method of confrontational direct action provides a stage that is not as asymmetric as the street corner.

Although Marineland is protected through Canadian law and it falls within the accepted views of species privilege, and MAD is instead seen as a threat to the law and a disruption to the normative ideology of speciesism, digital media is less uneven. Twitter functions through the integration of @ and # symbols that link users and words to establish trends. These symbols have been integrated into Facebook and Intagram to also

104 contribute to trends and engage in the process of trending. In looking at the digital media accounts held by the campaigns included in this analysis, there was an interesting rearticulation of power through trends. I used the aggregating site TweetArchivist that integrates Instagram, Twitter, Vine, and Tumblr to gather the most commonly used hashtags associated with Marineland. The most commonly used words, thus the trend for

#Marineland, include, “ENDCAPTIVITY,” “BLACKFISH,” “DIED,” “VEGAN,”

“CLOSING,” “ABUSE,” “EVIL,” AND “PROTEST.” This is of particular interest because it demonstrates how activists can control the digital discourse through social media. If an individual is curious about Marineland and follows it on any of the listed digital media sites, they are inadvertently bombarded with these words. Similarly, the most commonly used words for @Marineland include, “ENDCAPTIVITY,” “HOPE,”

“OUT!,” “ENDANGERED,” “CAPTIVITY,” “BLACKFISH,” “AVOID,” AND

“EXPLOITATION-BASED,.” The digital space, in this sense, also creates an alternative screen similar to the ones discussed in Chapter Five: Direct Action as Spectacle for activists to disidentify with speciesism itself.

Bunnies, airplanes, and primates: The Bunny Alliance

The organizers from the Bunny Alliance had traveled through Ohio for a demonstration outside the Greater Kentucky/Cincinnati International Airport (CVG) in

December 2013. The activists had also traveled to Resistance Ecology in 2014 to present on a panel about strategic organizing for effective campaigning, the Gateway to Hell tour, and the international collaboration to end the transport of animals to laboratories. The organizers also led a lecture about building strategic alliances for successful campaigns.

In the panel, the organizers discussed why The Bunny Alliance engages in a national tour

105 to build relationships with other groups (anarchist antispeciesists and solidarity movements). The organizers also discussed the ways in which their campaign and actions build a national grassroots network. The organizers then traveled to the Earth First!

Rendezvous to deliver a similar talk, and a legal training for activists’ interested in direct action. The organizers emphasized that State repression should not and does not deter anyone from being an effective activist.

On January 3rd, 2014, I participated in a demonstration with The Bunny Alliance as part of the Gateway to Hell Tour at the CVG airport that targeted Delta and KLM

AirFrance. The demonstration was originally scheduled for Thursday, January 2nd at noon. I was unable to find any information on the Facebook page or website about the demonstration. I waited until 11 a.m. and then emailed the Facebook page to get information about where to meet. Thirty minutes later I received a message from the page saying that the demonstration was pushed back until the 3rd at 6pm. I also received a friend request from one of the organizers on Facebook. I scanned our “mutual friends” and found we had several west coast activists in common. I had been nervous about going to the demonstration because I was not sure if the organizers would know who I was and my credibility would be challenged. It was an easier icebreaker to become Facebook friends because they could see my networks, publications, and previous political actions.

On another level, I was apprehensive to attend a demonstration at such a visible location during the holiday (travel) season. I hold a full-time position at a private school, and fellow administrators are unaware of my political engagement. The position is relatively public within the Jewish community, and many colleagues would be traveling through

106 the airport for the holidays. Although I was confident the protest fell within legal parameters, I am apprehensive to disclose my political involvement to my employer47.

Ultimately, my solidarity with the campaign superseded the pragmatic concern for workplace discrimination. Perhaps foolishly, I prioritize my reputation amongst activists over my professional reputation at work outside of academia. In this sense, attending the demonstration became a political act in and of itself, challenging the assumptions about who attends and participates in public direct actions.

The temperature outside was 18 degrees Fahrenheit, so I decided to leave Emory at home with my partner. Given that I was six months pregnant, I bundled up to avoid any health issues. I left the house at 5:15 p.m. and headed to the demonstration. I parked in the closest garage and found the group inside the airport by the Delta ticketing counter.

They were standing inside the airport holding signs but not set up for the demonstration yet. There were several security guards watching them nearby. I introduced myself and met a female and male that travel with the collective. There was another female and male that met for the demonstration. They were waiting for another activist that travels with the group and is also a co-founder of the collective. He was getting the camera from the

47. One of the main individuals I interviewed with at my current job is an executive at Novartis, a longstanding target of anarchist antispeciesist direct action. Though I did keep all of my academic and activist presentations on my curriculum vitae (that clearly demonstrate political support of these activists) I choose to “hide” many of my Facebook posts and tags from those affiliated with the school. I also do not accept friend requests on Facebook from many of my co-workers. On the other hand, I also am apprehensive to disclose where I work to other activists. The coalitional function of anarchist antispeciesist organizing has facilitated salient connections between movements. Powell, for example, is a very outspoken supporter of the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions Movement. I am employed by a Jewish Day School that does have public ties to Israel and identifies as having a “Zionistic” focus. Although I am not in their classrooms, I accept that my employment is contentious. I have chosen to fracture these two components of my social life from one another to minimize confrontation. I also do not want to debate the immorality of vivisection with one of the Board of Trustees at the school, nor do I want to debate whether or not Israel should exist as a Jewish state. It does not mean that I am inherently adversarial with either parties, it just means I have made the practical decision to keep these contradictory, contentious elements of my daily life separate.

107 car to videotape the demonstration. I met him and quickly recognized him from a previous arrest in another state. The case has received national attention from activists, and the other suspect remains in county jail. I had met the other suspect at a convergence in California, which also helped establish my credibility as an activist. These activists were later charged with conspiracy to violate the AETA and part of a constitutional challenge to the charge. He had just been released from county jail in IL not too long ago.

He was arrested based on suspicion to commit an illegal act, along with another activist that I had met in California.

The activists in attendance were very friendly, but did not disclose much information or ask many questions of me. While we were chatting, a Delta manager (he was dressed in a suit and time and carrying a walkie-talkie) came over with a grin on his face. He seemed eager to escort us outside. We had already discussed the likelihood they would demand we move the demonstration outside, but this was not preferred because the much larger crowd was indoors. The organizers stressed the cold temperatures and requested that we be able to stand inside. The manager grinned and said that we would need to go outside, and then indicated that there was a special spot for us already marked.

As part of Kentucky protest laws, activists must obtain a permit in advance. The organizers had done so, and Delta responded by providing a “Free speech” area outside.

We walked outside and saw a 10’ x 6’ perimeter marked by orange cones. Behind it was a larger sign that the airport had put up. It read:

THE FIRST AMMENDMENT requires the Kenton County Airport Board to make certain areas of the Airport available for the expression of protected speech. We understand that the content of the protected speech in these areas may be objectionable, however; the Board cannot restrict or regulate the content of protected speech. The Kenton County Airport Board does not condone or endorse the views expressed in such solicitation areas. -CVG. (Grubbs 2014c)

108

The sign reinforced the sentiment of the airport, security, and local police. There were four police offers present, countless security guards, and airport employees nearby during the one-hour protest.

We entered our small free speech zone and noticed it was in the very corner of the airport entrance. We had little access to patrons and obviously unable to distribute literature easily. After about ten minutes of standing there, one of the activists asked if she should start chanting. The other person said, “Since we have little access to people, I would at least like to be loud” (Grubbs 2014c). Her interest was in making our presence known and also providing a better video for Delta to show our demonstration was successful. One of the organizers pointed out, “We deliver every video to delta, so basically this is a way to talk directly to them” (Grubbs 2014c). He had a handheld camera device that allowed him to hold it without it being obviously a camera. We started chanting, though you could not hear it from indoors, and immediately a police officer asked to speak with one of the organizers. The organizer joked that he was not sure if he had permission to leave the coned-off area. The officer asked if we could tone it down a little, to which the organizer smiled and said he would take it into consideration. The organizers appeared quiet, were well dressed and unassuming, and could quickly shift from polite to aggressive. As soon as the organizer re-entered the designated area, he shouted even louder into the megaphone.

The chanting continued, and we handed out several leaflets. People walked past and held up their cell phones to record the chanting. A younger man, waiting for someone in his BMW SUV, watched as we shouted chants toward an empty parking garage. A few minutes later, he came over to us and asked if we would like bottled water.

109 After we declined, he began to ask questions about the purpose of the demonstration and campaign. He went back to his vehicle and watched the demonstration until his friend arrived, and then he left. As I stood there, I received a text message from a relative saying, “What is the animal rights protest about at the Delta terminal?” (Grubbs 2014c). I thought it was strange that she had already heard about the demonstration, and began to wonder if someone that saw me was already gossiping. A few minutes later I looked over and saw my cousin standing at the entrance door to the airport.

I ran over to say hello and explain what we were doing. My aunt had assumed it was connected to my research and my own politics, and also had genuine interest in the campaign. We gave them some flyers and explained the basic logic of a pressure campaign. She implied that she supported the efforts, and also the ability for people to gather in public spaces and demonstrate. We talked for a few more minutes and then I went back out to participate. After another 20 minutes of chanting, one of the organizers announced that it was now 7:00 p.m. and the demonstration was over. We were all painfully cold, so we all sighed relief that we had successfully made it outside the entire hour. We chatted briefly before going our separate ways. The cold was not conducive to small talk or standing outside. I tried to mention social circles that we had in common, but the conversations were brief and the organizers seemed less interested in getting to know me. The campaign is traveling- and in that sense it is self-contained. They didn't ask for my number or even ways to keep in touch. The campaign relies on social media and the internet to publicize events, and also encourages local activists to connect independently. The campaign, as an anarchist antispeciesist campaign, does not utilize a hierarchical structure. The organizers plan a national tour, but each city has its own

110 organizers that engage in actions throughout the year. The local organizers are also encouraged to help plan the events that coincide with the national tours themselves. In this sense, I did not expect them to spend time networking with me. Their goal is to provide a space where activists can connect on a local level and network to strengthen smaller collectives across the country.

This demonstration was quite different from the home demonstrations I participated in while in Washington, D.C. The home demonstrations were scheduled throughout the day, and followed with solidarity actions in the evening. The Bunny

Alliance did seem to have similar functions in other cities with a larger activist population, which may have been why the organizers did not express interest in a social gathering following the demonstration. The model of organizing a national tour inherently means the organizers are transient, exhausted, and do not have the time to get to know local activists before leaving town. Thus, I remained connected to the campaign and organizers through social media. I also connected with a local activist that has organized subsequent demonstrations at the ABX Airlines headquarters. Following the demonstration, the organizers posted images and video of the demonstration. One of the organizers laughed that the camera was pretty full from them taking videos of “ghosts” while staying at a creepy place in Illinois.

I wondered if they took photographs of the CVG sign or the perimeter marked with large cones. I wondered if they made mental notes of who showed up and ways to reach out again. I wondered what their interest was in the locals that came, and if they had any. It is clear that the campaign is not as focused on the pressure on local employees, but rather collating a large number of protests and presenting them to Delta’s

111 corporate office. Although it felt like a small demonstration that night, I realized it is irrelevant how many people attend one specific event. Through creative camera shots and loud bullhorns, the protest is part-and-parcel to a larger video compilation about the consistent pressure the campaign places. It mattered that security had to come twice to request we quiet down, and it mattered that the local Delta staff may contact the airport and complain that they feel unsafe because of protestors. In a sense, the campaign only needs a few activists that are willing to travel and shout. The growing number of local activists that are willing to host demonstrations and utilize pressure tactics is icing on the rhetorical cake.

The subsequent demonstration I attended with The Bunny Alliance on April 23,

2014 was outside the ABX Air office. Similarly, the turnout was small and we spent most of the time chanting to an empty parking lot. Because the demonstration was over an hour away, I had to bring my two-month-old daughter with me to breastfeed. Unlike the other demonstration, however, there were no designated areas for the protest to take place. We simply set up on the pavement outside the offices and began to chant48. Employees stood inside the building and peered through the glass walls, and then a black SUV pulled up to the front. We were told one of the targeted employees was expected to leave shortly, which sparked conspiratorial conversations about how the office had created a decoy.

The demonstration was scheduled during the end of business hour: 4:00 – 5:00 p.m. As the employees trickled out of the office, none engaged with us or looked our direction.

48. See Appendix:P for the chant sheet sent to me by the organizer.

112 We each took photographs, shouted toward the pavement, and headed our separate ways at 5:00 p.m.

From Washington, D.C. to Washington state: Pacific Northwest

There is a rich history of anarchist antispeciesist direct action throughout

Washington, Oregon, and California. The Pacific Northwest, because of the concentration of Redwood trees and other exploited “natural” resources, has been the site of some of the most notable direct actions49. I arrived in Seattle, Washington in June 2014. I traveled with my partner and our two children: our 4-month old daughter, Simon, and 2-year old daughter, Emory. As we struggled to carry the car seats and luggage through the airport, I felt the physical realities of my anthropological baggage. Similar to the trips to Canada and local demonstrations, I chose to travel with my children for the six weeks of data collection across the country. Although I frame this decision as a choice, the physical, financial, and emotional demands of attachment parenting constrained my limited agency to “choose.” Simon was exclusively breastfed both because of nutritional and ethical commitments50. Emory relied on me for emotional and physical support, and had never spent more than 12 hours away from me. In order to gather ethnographic data that is authentic to my own lived experience and reflects my identity within this movement, it would also be inauthentic to fracture my role as a mother from this project. Similarly, the

49. The important, but lengthy, history of direct action in the Pacific Northwest has been extensively documented by activists, and through the digitally archived rhetoric of communiqués. The extensive history of activism in this particular area falls outside the scope of this analysis, however the history has been covered extensively (Pickering 2007; Nocella and Best 2004; Loadenthal 2013a).

50. There are no vegan infant formulas on the market, limiting the options of a vegan mother to either breastfeed or rely on breast milk donations. In addition, I was uncomfortable feeding Simon breast milk from a donor that consumed other-than-human animal products.

113 decision to publicly mother my children while engaging in activism and academic research contributes to the larger socio-political project of queering traditionally male- dominated androcentric spaces (Adams and Donovan 1995). During the six-week period, we drove an average of 100 miles per day, stopping frequently at anarchist-run businesses, infoshops, convergences, and academic conferences. During the first two weeks, we drove over 1400 miles to Stanwood, WA to Klamath, CA to Seattle,

Washington. We then flew to Denver, Colorado and drove from Ft. Collins, CO to

Albuquerque, NM to Denver, Colorado.

The first planned stop was Portland, Oregon for the Resistance Ecology convergence held at Portland State University. The convergence organizers stressed that this was not an academic conference, nor was this solely a skills-based series of workshops. The convergence was a hybrid of tabling, presentations, workshops, and roundtable discussions. The list of presenters included direct action activists, lawyers, university professors, defendants in ecoterrorism cases, as well as students that wandered for the free food provided by the local Food Not Bombs. Many of the activists in attendance were traveling to the Earth First! Rendezvous in the coming week, making the convergence the first intentional point-of-contact with my research participants. As the first point-of-contact, I debated whether I would first enter with my children or not. I asked my partner to go inside and report back the atmosphere and if it would be conducive for children. After a few minutes inside the building, he emerged and helped take the kids from their car seats. I encompassed Simon in a cloth wrap, clinging her close to my body, so that she could sleep or breastfeed at her discretion. Emory, on the other hand, was wide-awake and eager to run around. She was dressed in a pair of jeans

114 and a black t-shirt that said, “I am vegan and I love you,” made by the local vegan company, Herbivore. I surveyed the room and noted the prevalence of septum rings, asymmetrical haircuts, patches, and tattoos. The visual displays of both anarchist and antispeciesist politics were omnipresent.

I wandered into the tabling room and made my way around the small room by stopping at each table. In one of the most uncomfortable moments of my research, I reached the table of a prominent anarchist antispeciesist that founded a social justice collective focused on the ethics of food production and sourcing. I have met her before and heard her discuss the practice of elective sterilization as a way to combat ecological destruction. I was aware of this divisive politic when I approached her wearing my infant child in a wrap. As I discussed earlier, I do not often wear jewelry and intentionally do not do so during political actions. However, I had worn my wedding band that day and forgot to remove it prior to entering the space51. I caught her looking at the child wrapped around my abdomen, and then her eyes immediately traveled to my hand. The disapproval exuded from her disgusted expression. As I walked away, I slowly removed the ring from my finger and put it in my pocket. This was yet another reminder that each of my decisions fit within sociopolitical movements, and these decisions reproduce systems of privilege that conflict with other deeply held political views. A few tables down, I recognized two activists that I had met at a demonstration with The Bunny

Alliance at the Greater Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky Airport. The activists were

51. The wedding band I had traveled with was an heirloom ring from my partner’s divorced parents. The ring contains several diamonds that belonged to his mother, and were repurposed into a new ring. Although I do not support the diamond industry or trade, the ring holds sentimental value that is negotiated through a complicated and hypocritical tension between political and personal commitments.

115 presenting later that afternoon, and had also been listed as presenting a skills workshop at the Earth First! Rendezvous. They passed along flyers, stickers, and posters to bring back to Ohio for the demonstration scheduled in August. I dropped the materials off on a table and headed into the next panel.

The panel featured two anarchist antispeciesists that have been arrested for direct action activism and/or conspiracy to do so. I still had Simon asleep on my chest, and my partner carried our toddler as we attempted to blend into the back of the room. The presentation was held in a multipurpose room on the Portland State University campus, and had a series of board games tucked into a corner. I grabbed the game “Apples to

Apples” and removed the top. Within minutes, hundreds of red and green cards littered the floor. Rather than receive friendly smiles or reassuring nods from the attendees, the glares exuded an indignant sense of “I wonder if she will clean that up.” Once Emory was engrossed enough in the cards, I began to take notes from the presentation. In line with this projects focus on performative power, disciplinary punishment, and political repression, the presenters focused on the role of surveillance in the AELM. The first speaker, a well-published author and highly regarded activist, challenged the presumed power of the State within these discussions about surveillance:

Don't be afraid. The government doesn't know shit. Know your rights. You don't have to talk. Remember to keep teaching that over and over again. Apple, Google, and other companies know far more than the U.S. government, and for now that information is silo'd even if they will sell the information in the end. It is all about the perception of fear. Political prisoners that get released often struggle with PTSD. Make friends with people who have resources in your community. Lawyer up! (Anonymous 2014a)

The sentiment challenges the State’s efforts to interpellate anarchist antispeciesists that are working outside of the paradigm of good versus bad protestor. The presenter also

116 critiqued the presumption that the State’s retaliatory interpellation of anarchist antispeciesists that use direct action as ecoterrorists. The power of the State, according to this presenter, is merely a perception that he insists we challenge. The second presenter challenged the ability for the State to gain incriminating information through surveillance, but stressed the physical and psychological impacts of the perceived surveillance. In this sense, the presenter relied on a traditional reading of Foucault’s disciplinary punishment and the conditioning of the body (Foucault 1977:104–105, 215,

280). But rather reinforce the social conditioning of the State, the presenter emphasized the ways in which activists can manipulate the media and hold the State accountable through the Freedom of Information Act (FOIA). Ultimately, however, the presentation toggles between the tension of denying the State’s effective use of surveillance and reifying it through sharing stories. The presenter shares his own experience with surveillance when the U.S. Postal Service delivered mail with stamping that revealed it had been intercepted, scanned, and archived by the FBI. The story was used to open up the potential for disrupting paranoia through strategic media:

Use the media. You can manipulate the media to help release documents. You should utilize the FOIA. People are now using it in the movement to expose bad stuff. I used FOIA to receive the photocopies of all of my mail that was scanned and photocopied by the federal government during the 30-day period. If you get something; you sue and appeal and follow it all the way through. People tend to be afraid of the media- but we should use it to tell these stories of surveillance. I reached out to journalists to tell my story because it's a closed case. In other cases the government is ready to indict and convict, but this was not the case for me. I worked with a journalist to get 3 things out there: represent anarchy in decent way, make me look reasonable, and make the FBI look like fools. I wanted to demonstrate a clear “us” that is against a surveillance state. We can’t deny that the media is an important tool and two years after my story, Snowden releases all these documents. We can make the FBI seem like the out of control entity they are, but we can also show that we don't buy the story. I didn't want to be distracted

117 by surveillance and make a stink when I noticed mail surveillance. But then looking back I admit I underestimated the power of repression. [Resistance Ecology n.d.]

The convergence featured several panels that focused on security culture and provided perspectives on how activists can work in solidarity with one another to challenge State authority and speciesism52. Although the convergence was held on a university campus, the panelists used accessible language to address practical issues with organizing, ways to engage in solidarity work, and how to access community resources53. Several days later, we traveled from Portland to Northern California to attend the Earth First! Rendezvous.

The Rendezvous organizers did not release the location of the convergence to the public until a month before, and the location was given as coordinates. The Earth First!

Journal released the following, “The Rondy is an annual gathering of biocentric revolutionaries, hosted by Earth First!. This year the Rondy will be July 1-7th, in Southern

Oregon, near the coast (location to be disclosed closer to the event)” (2014 Earth First!

Rendezvous Call For Workshops and Donations 2014). After locating the specified area through Google Maps, we planned the route. Unlike Resistance Ecology or other convergences held on college campuses, the Rendezvous is specifically geared toward activists. The gatherings provide trainings in direct action tactics, networking for aboveground and underground activists, and a space to engage in dialogue to advance

52. The use of speciesism is consistent throughout the project, referring to the belief ecological and biological species privilege is a form of structural violence. Speciesism does not solely refer to the privileging of the human species over other-than-human animal species.

53. The convergence organizers stressed solidarity with aboveground and underground activists, political prisoners, and international movements. The notion of ‘community’ was used throughout to stress interconnectedness through solidarity. Community does not refer to geographic communities, but it loosely defines kinship networks of activists that share intersectional critiques of authoritarianism and speciesism.

118 social justice aims. As we drove through the winding roads of the National Forest, our cell phones lost service. The directions from Earth First! were based on landmarks, which oftentimes underestimated the timing to reach each site. The guidelines suggested attendees’ leave indentifying information (such as photo identification, credit cards, and passports) at home. Drivers were encouraged to use precaution to avoid unnecessary stops from law enforcement. Before we realized the campsite was approaching, we noted two unmarked Federal cars parked aside the road54. A few minutes later, we passed another unmarked vehicle with the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA). We slowed down as we drove by with the windows down, and heard the nervous barks of a dog in the back. The directions mentioned that there would most likely be various forms of law enforcement present along the journey, and that a concentration of them should indicate the site is imminent. As expected, we turned the corner to find at least six vehicles stationed at the base of the camp. We drove past one time, making note of each vehicle, and then turned back to enter the Earth First! campsite.

The long and narrow path led to a pop-up umbrella tent with three activists sitting in lawn chairs. The handwritten sign read Earth First! Rendezvous and a series of

Xeroxed handwritten maps sat in a pile. One of the activists came over to the car to greet us and peer into the car. I watched as his eye traveled throughout the car, while another activist seated in a lawn chair noted our license plate. My partner got out of the car and walked over to the table to get a map and say hello to the other activists. He came back to the car a few minutes later and we drove into the forest. The campsite was located about

54. My partner, as a scholar of conflict analysis and resolution, has an extensive knowledge of license plate markers and vehicle designation used by the State in various degrees of law enforcement.

119 ten minutes into the forest from the State Route and along the dirt road were hammocks and single-person tents. Despite the explicit requests to not bring companion animals, there were several dogs with political bandanas and black clothing oftentimes accessorized by a subset of transient anarchists called crust punks (Parmar, Nocella, and

Robertson 2014). I watched as a dog lunged toward an activist passing by, and the activist turned to scream and hit the dog. The cars were directed to park in a centralized area. We pulled into an empty spot and noticed each car had their license plate covered with towels and rags. The cars ranged in make, condition and age, reflecting a relatively diverse range of classes present. The Rendezvous had started a day earlier, making our late arrival relatively obvious in the sea of dust-covered cars. I got out of the car, wrapped

Simon in a cloth wrap around my chest, and ventured out. The spaces were mapped out to and concentrated different populations through general camping, family camping, medical tent, Cascadia Kids Tent, kitchen, session spaces, and the Trans and/or Women’s

Action Camp (TWAC). The Earth First! Journal has published solidarity calls for donations and action specifically for Bay Area TWAC (Support Bay Area TWAC (Trans

And/or Womens Action Camp) 2014). The dirt paths each led to specified areas and had makeshift signs indicating the intersecting areas.

Shortly after arriving, I befriended a few women that had noticed me at

Resistance Ecology. They were on their way to the TWAC for a swim in the lake, and suggested I come along with my daughters. With Simon wrapped on my chest and Emory in a back carrier, I set off with them to find the “watering hole.55” As I trekked along the

120 path, I noticed the Rose McCarthy Memorial Way sign tacked on a tree, the signs explicitly addressing inclusivity and safe spaces, and the large board with a series of terms and definitions. The terms included “white privilege,” “cultural appropriation,”

“racism,” and “indigenous.” It is of note that none of the terms addressed speciesism or issues of consumption. There was a presence, however, of antispeciesist literature spread out on the blankets of distributors and several organizers identified themselves as representatives from recognizable antispeciesist direct action campaigns. The secondary board offered sign up slots for attendees to volunteer to assist with kitchen duties, cleaning, childcare, and site management. Along the walk to the lake we discussed our activist backgrounds and what brought us to the Rendezvous. Another woman had her daughter present and described how they had hitchhiked across the country to attend, and that she was not sure how they would get home. I was introduced to others as “Jenny,” but everyone else was introduced as their chosen pseudonyms such as Tink and Rising

Eagle. When I disclosed my name was Jenny I often received skeptical looks and a sensed their doubt in my authenticity because I did not provide an obvious pseudonym.

After a long walk through TWAC, we were unable to locate the swimming area. We heard shouts through the trees, but one of the activists said she heard men’s voices and was uncomfortable moving forward. We turned back and headed to the next series of sessions that were slated to begin shortly. The mother and daughter that we had befriended expressed an interest in sticking together when we returned to the base camp.

55. I often had to wear or carry both children, as they would not separate from me in strange surroundings. Although my partner was present and more than willing to help, it became easier to keep them with me. Because the space was for women only, my partner was not able to accompany us to assist. See Appendix:O for an example of wearing both children at the Resistance Ecology convergence.

121 We found a clearing and sat down for our daughters to play while we listened to the panel.

The panel focused on security culture, a recurring theme that was also prevalent was Resistance Ecology. The speaker, a lawyer representing the National Lawyers Guild

(NLG), facilitated a series of role-playing activities to provide legal trainings. The speaker took turns acting as the activist and law enforcement officer, emphasizing the legal rights of protestors, “Three things: Don't talk to cops. Don't trust cops. Cops are like wild animals” (Anonymous 2014c). The participants wanted to know more about the ways in which they can protect themselves at convergences such as the one they were currently at. One activist described the ways cell phones can be used for surveillance and suggested it be a requirement that all batteries are removed. Another activist spoke out and challenged this tactic claiming that people can simply bring a back-up power source.

The conversation became contentious when another activist shouted that the only effective way to avoid cell phones being used for surveillance is to lock them in a metal box at the beginning of each gathering. Given the rich ethnographic data and elaborate infrastructure that was available during the Rendezvous, it was challenging to not use my cell phone or camera. Unlike the other activist gatherings and direct actions I attended, I intentionally did not have my cell phone on me while I was there. This posed a challenge when I was finally able to write down my observations at the end of the day, particularly with recalling the specific physical surroundings. The final role-playing enacted a “stop and search” between an activist and a law enforcement officer. The NLG representative probed the participant with invasive questions; each met with an insinuated threat. When the activist began to answer one of the questions and address the speculation, the NLG

122 representative loudly said, “STOP!” He began to explain that you do not have to answer any questions and the only vocalization you should make is to request legal representation. The panel wrapped up and we made our way back to the kitchen area for lunch.

The prepared food provided by Seeds for Peace did not indicate if animal products were used, though there were animal products visible in the kitchen. I found a piece of bread and slathered on peanut butter and brought it back for Emory. While we were sitting there, two activists quickly walked past while shouting to one another. I overheard as they questioned the choice to host the Rendezvous in the Siskiyou National

Forest, which they claimed was native land. They slowed down and continued their conversation within earshot. I listened as they went on to discuss the prevalence of “dread locks” worn by white people in the movement. They had attended a talk earlier that day that focused on white privilege and cultural appropriation, and a self-identified white woman had defended the decision to wear her hair in locks. They glanced over and awkwardly paused when they noticed I had been listening. In effort to ease the discomfort, I joined the conversation. We chatted about identity and legitimate claims to authenticity, and the tendency for activists in radical spaces to police one another. I disclosed that I oftentimes feel ostracized for my appearance and gender performance.

One of the activists laughed and said, “Yeah, I’m sure when you walk in a room people think ‘Hey, there is Activist Barbie!’” The other activist laughed and admitted they thought that when they noticed me earlier. The conversation trailed off shortly after that and they left to attend a tree-sit workshop. I began to notice a rotting smell close by and got up to locate the source. There were two women seated nearby that were working with

123 the dead carcass of squirrels. Although the smell was putrid, I moved closer to overhear the conversation. Both women appeared in their mid-20’s, white, and well-dressed. The activists looked like an Urban Outfitters catalog meets The Flintstones.

Two men came to sit down next to them just as I made my way closer. The two women began to explain that they were working these hides and had hunted the animals in the forest. The women both wore jewelry made from bones and feathers and one of the men was wearing a fur skirt. One of the women offered the men a cup of tea, made with the brains of the squirrel. After a brief conversation about how to make squirrel brain tea, they began to discuss the possibility of trading animals. Although one of the women had just slaughtered two elks to make her bedding at home, she was interested in trading her remaining two elk. This same woman went on to describe her hunting and skinning practices as an art form, and she mockingly stated that she could survive in the woods unlike most of the people there. This interaction was a departure from the intersectional conversations at Resistance Ecology, but fits within the primitivist politic. This was the only encounter I had with someone boasting about hunting, but it demonstrates the range of activists drawn to the Rendezvous. Another conversation of note was with a couple someone directed us to that also had an infant. There were not many children in attendance, so it became an identifying feature for both parties. The couple had also traveled from Ohio, and coincidentally one of them was pursuing a PhD from an Ohio university. We shared a few words on struggling to survive on adjunct wages and the instability of the academic job market, and also shared stories of participating in political actions with a child. This was one of the few conversations that I had with another activist in which I discussed my research at length and received a positive response. The

124 other couple also disclosed their names, which I later verified are actually their legal names. In a farewell exchange, Emory watched as the mother ate a raw carrot with a fresh green stem. Emory asked if she could also have a carrot, which was then given to her as a parting gift.

Our stay at the Rendezvous provided an encouraging exposure to tactical training within the anarchist antispeciesist movement. The gathering itself, as a temporary autonomous zone (TAZ), fractures the physical and digital divide and attempts to create forms of disidentification invoking the existential questions and framework put forth by the insurrectionary anarchist, Hakim Bey (2003):

Are we who live in the present doomed never to experience autonomy, never to stand for one moment on a bit of land ruled only by freedom? Are we reduced either to nostalgia for the past or nostalgia for the future? Must we wait until the entire world is freed of political control before even one of us can claim to know freedom? Logic and emotion can unite to condemn such a supposition. Reason demands that one cannot struggle for what one does not know; and the heart revolts at a universe so cruel as to visit such injustices on our generation alone of mankind…The TAZ is like an uprising which does not engage directly engage directly with the State, a guerilla operation which liberates an area (of land, of time, of imagination) and then dissolves itself to re-form elsewhere/elsewhen, before the State can crush it. Because the State is concerned primarily with Simulation rather than substance, the TAZ can “occupy” these areas clandestinely and carry on its festal purposes for quite a while in relative peace. [96–99].

The camp is set up as a suspension of geopolitical borders, State regulations, and authoritarianism. It was clear that many activists are drawn to the convergence for a variety of reasons, and that a range of politics are represented. The gathering was not a cohesive group with one agenda, but rather a series of agendas that overlapped and diverged on specific issues. Many of the distributors featured literature on the ELF and

ALF, as well as CrimethInc. and Green Anarchy. The sessions provided skills trainings, anonymous spaces to network and build activist communities, and workshops providing

125 legal counseling. Many of the activists looked familiar from various political actions, including demonstrations in Ohio with The Bunny Alliance. The Cascadia Kids Tent, unfortunately, was a total bust for Emory and did not provide any childcare relief. The tent relied on volunteers to provide childcare, and only one person had signed up for one shift the entire week. In theory, the tent and designated camping area represented an inclusive politic for those with children. In practice, however, the tent was understaffed and the family camping functioned more as a segregator than grand gesture. As we gathered our belongings to leave, we sifted through the Ride Board. The board facilitates activists traveling through larger areas to participate in demonstrations without a financial burden. Following the Rendezvous, there were a series of scheduled book fairs throughout California that activists had requested rides to. The direct action scene facilitates this transient, relatively anonymous mode of travel. Several activists had told me that they prefer to live on their own without the financial commitment of maintaining a residence. They indicated that they believe collectives of passionate individuals can claim spaces to be there own, just as Earth First! had done through the establishment of the camp. Again, the Earth First! Rendezevous camp functions as a TAZ, a widely-cited anarchist concept that creatively challenges property and the role of the commons, provides a physical space to disidentify with not just the good versus bad protestor paradigm, but also the authoritative functions of the State (Bey 2003).

The exit from the Rendezvous was not without its own excitement and dose of security culture. As we pulled down the dirt road to exit, we noticed a long row of state and federal vehicles. The vehicles represented the USDA, local sheriff’s office, United

States Forestry Service, and two unmarked car with plain-clothes officers in them. We

126 stopped on the dirt path so that I could take a picture of the cars when an officer shouted,

“No blocking the road!” (Grubbs 2014b). We began to drive forward toward the state route, but noticed there were several officers walking into the forest. Moments after getting on the main road, my partner indicated he wanted to go back into the campsite.

Initially, I resisted the decision and questioned how we would provide assistance. In an exercise of empowerment, my partner began to list off a series of services that we would be able to provide, including: an extensive knowledge of our legal rights, two cell phones capable of recording video, a vehicle to transport an additional person, and the ability to provide forewarning before the site is searched. After my initial hesitation, we turned back around and drove into the site. We rolled down our window, revealing to two small children strapped into car seats in the backseat, and listened closely to the officer’s conversations. One of the officers walked by the car and asked me if this was a Rainbow

Gathering. We kept on driving until we reached the pop-up welcome tent and activists in lawn chairs. My partner got out of the car and explained that there were about 15 officers at the foot of the entrance road and that an additional 5 officers were walking on-foot into the forest. The activist explained that today alone, 20 people had been stopped and searched in their vehicles and one person had been arrested and subsequently released.

We were given the ‘okay’ to enter the campsite again and let the organizers know what was going on.

We parked in our parking spot and I waited with the girls while my partner went to find the organizers. After he located them, I watched as their interaction progressed.

They reached for their walkie-talkie and a few minutes later another organizer came running down from TWAC. After ten minutes of conversation and strategizing, the

127 officers made their way to the parking area. Two officers stood with my partner and the organizers while three officers dispersed into the camp. One of the officers walked the aisles of the parking area and appeared to be looking at each individual vehicle. The conversation lasted less than 10 minutes and then Michael said it was okay for us to leave. The officers claimed that they heard there were fireworks in the forest, and that they were simply there to remind them not to use them. The visit was one of many during the Rendezvous and a rather unsuccessful attempt to intimidate the organizers.

While I was waiting in the car, I watched as several individuals stood in a circle and passed a joint with potent marijuana around. Activists scoffed as they walked by, but did not appear concerned in the least. On our drive home down the mountain we noted an additional law enforcement vehicle with the USDA parked behind slightly off the road.

Emory waved goodbye and held tight to her Smokey the Bear binoculars someone had given her at the Rendezvous.

269Life and gender exploitation

Throughout this study, I engaged in direct action that relied on political theatre to challenge systems of exploitation. I followed a series of campaigns and collectives that relied on various forms of direct action to challenge power, and followed the various conversations between activists regarding the efficacy of various forms of direct action.

In the month leading up to the MAD Opening Day demonstration I learned about the

269Life campaign that traveled from Israel to the U.S. Several of my friends were going to participate in a public branding (with hot iron rods) of the numbers 269 to memorialize a calf tagged for slaughter with the number 269. The campaign epitomized public theater and the use of symbolism and rhetoric to reach a large audience. The campaign records

128 their demonstrations and successfully re-circulates these events internationally. The campaign gained international attention rapidly, drawing activists that I highly respected and had worked with. Though, the campaign quickly fell from grace as vocal anarchist antispeciesists criticized material found on the 269Life website. In addition, there is a strong sentiment amongst prominent anarchist antispeciesists against the animal liberation movement in Israel. The sentiment is part of an intersectional politic that challenges governmentality, State violence, and the denial of human rights protections to

Palestinians. There is also a growing critique of the effort to greenwash military practices to minimize the public perception of violence (Parr 2009:79–85). Despite these critiques, there remains a strong following of the campaign.

One of the performances became a disturbing topic for discussion during my data collection. In 2014, 269Life staged a public branding that would challenge the oftentimes-fractured consciousness between human compassion for their infants and the consumption of cow’s milk. Thus, the performance attempted to restore Adam’s absent referent, but instead committed an atrocious act of sexualized violence. The performance, featuring a young woman and infant, takes place in downtown Tel Aviv, in a densely populated area. The woman creates a spectacle through the screen of violence, gendered and sexualized violence. This was the second popular video from 269Life that featured a woman being abused on film. The campaign uses street theater to draw attention to the commodification of animal bodies by branding activist bodies with the numbers “269” with a torched cast iron rod. The activists are left charred and bleeding, some even unconscious, and then dragged off to conjure up images of abused animals. Although spectacle is a powerful rhetorical device that queers, or rearticulates and reimagines, the

129 veiled discussions about violence and exploitation in animal industries, it needs to be problematized. Public street theatre facilitates an imaginary, a temporal space where passerby folk (and online viewers of subsequent videos posted to social media) can participate in a symbolic performance through disidentification. The performance can be playful, interjecting humor as activists mock industry owners, vivisectors, and even capitalism itself. The performance can be emotionally disturbing, lining up hundreds of human bodies to represent the number of animals killed every thirty seconds. And in the case of 269Life, the performance can trigger repressed memories and emotions to those who have been sexually, physically, or emotionally abused.

The video from 269Life entitled “Woman Forcibly Milked in the Street- 269Life” uses a human female body to perform the reproductive violence and infanticide in the dairy industry. The video opens with People look confused as the woman’s baby is taken from her by men in masks and placed in a cage. The woman is pleading, crying to be left alone. The men proceed to tear open her blouse and use a blood-soaked pump to forcibly extract milk. Not only does she volunteer to have her baby taken and placed within a cage, attempting to make visible the connections between dairy and veal, but she agrees to be physically abused, have her clothes ripped open, and be forcibly milked in the streets with breast pumps appeared to be covered in blood. She is then kicked and has her neck clamped while being thrown into a van.

As an advocate of home demonstrations, political street theater, and direct action, the line between progress and hegemony requires consistent reflexive introspection. This connects to the earlier discussion in Chapter One: Introduction that emphasizes the challenges to drag performance by queer theorists such as Muñoz, Butler, and Halberstam

130 (Butler 2011:90–95; Muñoz 1999:99–101; Halberstam 2005:127-129). When do we begin to reflect on the structure of our own movement and have a conversation about the dimensions of privilege in our struggle for a holistic liberation? The line should and must be drawn to demarcate campaigns, performances, and individuals that rely on further exploiting other beings. Many have called the People for the Ethical Treatment of

Animals (PETA) on their use of cissexism and heteronormativity. Their insistence that women should go naked instead of wear the furs of an animal, and that men can still be aggressively masculine while vegan do not challenge the intersecting dimensions of privilege that naturalize speciesism. Women’s bodies do not need to be the battleground.

Human bodies not need be abused. The paradigms of power that privilege race, class, gender, sexuality, and so on do not need to be conflated with speciesism. The genocides, atrocities, and apartheids of human groups do not need to be made literal metaphors for animal exploitation. All such actions distract, derail, and undermine a holistic liberation from oppression.

It is not a necessary element to further exploit women’s bodies in order to have a conversation about the exploitation of animal bodies. The video reinforces all of the sexual and reproductive voice I discuss in an edited collection (Grubbs and Adams 2013).

269life is taking a similar approach to PETA, reifying gendered and sexual structures of violence without any critical engagement to disrupt these paradigms of power. This video represents a symbolic martyrdom that women have historically been marginalized to fill, and is particularly violent in the performance. The performance could have been organized to provide a salient reference for the audience about the connections between lactating mammals and commodification, but that opportunity was lost. Rather than

131 solely draw attention to the fact that dairy is predicated on reproductive violence, infanticide, and exploitation, the performance could have drawn symbolic connections.

Through the dialogue on social media, I watched the debate unfold regarding the performance. Some argued that humans must use their species privilege to keep the conversation about the animals, and that it is powerful to allow our bodies to be the site of pain and torture to raise awareness.

The activist circles in which I am involved, thankfully, did not agree with this argument. Instead, activists argued that committing acts of violence against one another to merely start a conversation about violence does not absolve species privilege. Instead it reifies it by focusing the conversation back onto humans. The public articulations of animal exploitation need not be done through reenacting violence against women’s bodies. Violence against human female bodies takes many forms and need not be conflated with the dimensions of violence against animals. The 269Life campaign is a departure from the other campaigns selected. It poses a moral and ethical dilemma about violence and effective tactics, and it also highlights the importance of intersectionality within the AELM. The campaign also provides a space to engage with the controversial tactic of elective mutilation and strategic essentialism. Ultimately, the campaign and the tactic are outside the realm of effective political theatre because it naturalizes violence.

Although forms of martyrdom have effective rhetorical function, they also cannot be separated from the violent acts themselves.

Conclusion

Each ethnographic site provided rich detail to interrogate the theoretical areas of the project. The data is woven throughout each chapter, although this chapter

132 concentrates several significant encounters. The challenge to maneuver data collection within these personal spaces as an activist and research remained a constant balancing act. Through local, national, and international travel, I gathered data from a range of activist spaces. I was able to engage with anarchist antispeciesist campaigns on a consistent, daily basis through the use of the internet and digital media,. As an activist, I began this project with access to the research population and access to intimate activist spaces. But because of my identity as an activist and commitment to radical change, I intentionally did not exploit those trusted spaces. In the instances that I did not use a recording device or gather identifying information, the data is contextually specific in the ways that relevant. My personal connections and commitments facilitated more nuanced and broadly stroked painting of these direct action campaigns and gatherings. This chapter provides segue and connection to the more specific ethnographic data woven throughout the remaining chapters.

133 CHAPTER FOUR

NEOLIBERAL CAPITALISM AND

CONSTRUCTING THE ECOTERRORIST

First, let us not blame people and their attitudes: the problem is not corruption or greed, the problem is the system that pushes you to be corrupt… Public figures from the pope downward bombard us with injunctions to fight the culture of excessive greed and consummation – this disgusting spectacle of cheap moralization is an ideological operation, if there ever was one… It is illusory to expect that one can effectively change things by "extending" democracy into this sphere, say, by organizing "democratic" banks under people's control. In such "democratic" procedures (which, of course, can have a positive role to play), no matter how radical our anti-capitalism is, the solution is sought in applying the democratic mechanisms – which, one should never forget, are part of the state apparatuses of the "bourgeois" state that guarantees undisturbed functioning of the capitalist reproduction. [Žižek 2012:3]

What about animals slaughtered for our consumption? Who among us would be able to continue eating pork chops after visiting a factory farm in which pigs are half-blind and cannot even properly walk, but are just fattened to be killed? And what about, say, torture and suffering of millions we know about, but choose to ignore? Imagine the effect of having to watch a snuff movie portraying what goes on thousands of times a day around the world: brutal acts of torture, the picking out of eyes, the crushing of testicles -the list cannot bear recounting. Would the watcher be able to continue going on as usual? Yes, but only if he or she were able somehow to forget -in an act which suspended symbolic efficiency -what had been witnessed. This forgetting entails a gesture of what is called fetishist disavowal: "I know it, but I don't want to know that I know, so I don't know." I know it, but I refuse to fully assume the consequences of this knowledge, so that I can continue acting as if I don't know it. [Žižek 2008:53]

The political economy of agri-vivisection industries has been the subject of anarchist antispeciesist critiques over the last four decades. The following chapter provides a political economy context in which anarchist antispeciesists engage is direct action to resist through disidentification. The chapter addresses the question of what constitutes the political economy itself and how does it interpellate the ways in which leftist resistance is

134 actualized within the ideological, social and economic [super-]structures of the State. In particular, the fusing of international corporations and geopolitical entities through globalization has created a moving, intangible target of which activist can demand change. Yet, in the wake of massive globalization that veils individual accountability, the neoliberal rhetoric of individual [citizen] social reasonability is omnipresent within the rhetoric of the good protestor that identifies with participatory democracy as the primary means of dissent56. The contradictory logic fits into the larger theoretical aim of this project to examine the performativity of power that enables the State to appear rational and fair, and it grossly manipulates the anti-authoritarian antispeciesist to appear as terrorists. The contemporary moment is defined by key characteristics that have been exacerbated by globalized capitalism. These characteristics facilitate a corporate environment that separates neoliberalism with from the political ideology of liberalism articulated by Thomas Hobbes and John Locke. Further, globalization has distanced the current economic and political reality from the liberalism promulgated in the years following World War I by President Franklin D. Roosevelt. Neoliberal capitalism facilitates the reconceptualization of sovereignty to include corporations as a global power with State protection.

As discussed in Chapter One: Introduction, the U.S. government maintains a

[neoliberal] performance of democracy, while still allowing corporations to operate as the exception through “corporate sovereignty” (Ong 2006:7). Corporate sovereignty

56. This argument is an extension of the earlier discussion in Chapter One: Introduction of subject formation and interpellation through Pêcheux’s three modalities in which individuals respond to the “hailing” of ideology as either the good subject, bad subject, or disidentification (Muñoz 1999:11; Pêcheux 1982:158).

135 facilitates the exceptional status of capitalist entities, specifically agri-vivisection industries, that are notoriously deregulated in their operation yet protected through the hyper-regulation of public scrutiny (Lovitz 2010:38). This hyper-regulation is exercised through the surveillance, harassment, arrest, and subsequent prosecution of activists engaging in direct action against agri-vivisection industries. Speciesist capitalism not only permits violence against other-than-human animals, but it also permits violence against human animals that are resolved to recapitulate agri-vivisection industries. The investigations, prosecution, and sentencing of anarchist antispeciesists Eric McDavid,

Daniel McGowan, and Walter Bond relied on rhetoric that conflated activism and terrorism, and affirmed the sovereignty of agri-vivisection.

Neoliberalism

There is a growing literature on the neoliberal reshaping of global capitalism and the nepotistic overlap between government and corporate entities. The neoliberal reshaping of global capitalism and the nepotistic overlap between government and corporate entities facilitates the decentralization of corporations, ambiguous loci of accountability, and the façade of individual agency (Leitner, Peck, and Sheppard 2008:3).

The decentralization of corporations negates accountability by creating an illusive web of interconnected international entities. With the increasing prevalence of lobby front groups and multinational conglomerates, the task of corporate-mapping and identifying a singular target has become increasingly difficult (Graeber 2009b:xii) It is difficult to identify a central site of government that can be held accountable for monitoring “the market,” let alone a singular regulatory body responsible for a single function within the market (Graeber 2009b:81). The abundance of regulatory groups and committees has

136 meant the obfuscation of actual regulation and accountability. Globalization has increased that terrain through the global borders that place further restrictions of who and what laws can apply to the market, depending on its location. Neoliberalism facilitates a façade of accountability through the rhetoric of market democracy. The challenge for those hoping to dismantle this oppressive reality relies on deconstructing the illusive web of corporate-State alliances that decentralize the deregulated industries.

The identified elements highlight the exploitative nature of neoliberalism and how it is hegemonically reinscribed in social relations.

Neoliberalism is loosely defined within a tangible framework of ten characteristics: the decentralization of State accountability, State/Private sector alliances, ambiguity and uncertainty of policing bodies, citizenship defined through a consumerism/client model, David Harvey’s concept of accumulation by dispossession,

Jürgen Habermas’ concept of civil society, transnational forms of governance, overlap of sovereignty, deregulation of industries, and the operating model of “best practices” that insists reality is quantifiable (Adamson 1983; Harvey 2007b; Habermas 1984). The decentralized and deregulated State is driven by the global market, which is controlled by elite powerholders (Leap 2011b). Habermas theorized that a necessary distinction must be made between the private sector and government and corporate spheres to facilitate public engagement and protections of speech. The demarcation of civil society, however, does not account for the elusive web of powerholders that is veiled within neoliberalism because of the ambiguity of authority. It is difficult to identify a central site of government that can be held accountable for monitoring “the market,” let alone a singular regulatory body responsible for a single function within the market (Graeber 2009b:81).

137 The abundance of regulatory groups and committees has meant the obfuscation of actual regulation and accountability.

Through the processes of privatization, financialization, the creation and manipulation of crisis, and redistribution through statecraft, the owning, bourgeois, class is able to accumulate capital that further strategies an economic wealth gap with the labor, proletariat, class through the dispossession of resources, including geographical, industrial, and ecological (Harvey 2004; Harvey 2005; Harvey 2007b). Harvey provides a contemporary application and expansion of Marx’s theory of capital accumulation, specifically the notion of “original” or “primitive accumulation” that fractures the contradictions and disillusions of capitalism and predatory credit structures. Globalization is one of the processes in the manipulation of crisis to address the spatio-temporal ‘fix,’ as Harvey explains,

…capital necessarily creates a physical landscape in its own image at one point in time only to have to destroy it at some later point in time as it pursues geographical expansions and temporal displacements as solutions to the crises of overaccumulation to which it is regularly prone. Thus is the history of creative destruction (with all manner of deleterious social and environmental consequences) written into the evolution of the physical and social landscape of capitalism…Another series of contradictions arises within the dynamics of spatio- temporal transformations more generally. If the surpluses of capital and labour power exist within a given territory (such as a nation state) and cannot be absorbed internally (either by geographical adjustments or social expenditures) then they must be sent elsewhere to find a fresh terrain for their profitable realization if they are not to be devalued. [Harvey 2004:66]

The agricultural industry negates environmental regulations and labor protections through the outsourcing of the means of production. Animal-based farms, seed patenting and

GMO crops, animal breeding, and the animal-skin trade have all shifted operations within a globalized marketplace that have had irreparable impacts on populations (Shiva 2005).

In order to naturalize ecological destruction, hunger despite excess in the global West,

138 and the economic demise of the small-farm operations, agricultural industries have relied on the manipulation of crisis. Within the context of neoliberal scholars interrogating the contemporary manifestations of capitalism, Harvey relies on Luxemburg’s apt foreshadowing of the credit crisis,

Credit, though shareholding, combines in one magnitude of capital a large number of individual capitals. It makes available to each capitalist the use of other capitalists’ money- in the form of industrial credit…Credit not only aggravates the crisis in its capacity as a dissembled means of exchange, it also helps to bring and extend the crisis by transforming all exchange into an extremely complex and artificial mechanism…We see that credit, instead of being an instrument for the suppression or the attenuation of crises, is on the contrary a particularly mighty instrument for the formation of crises…In short, credit reproduces all the fundamental antagonisms of the capitalist world. It accentuates that. It precipitates their development and thus pushes the capitalist world forward to its own destruction. [Luxemburg 1900:12]

The credit crisis exacerbates the notion of corporate economic hardship, when in fact, justifying the federal bailouts exclusively provided for corporations. Individual consumers were presented with the manipulation of the crisis that relied on predatory debt through credit (credit cards, loans, payday advance, and so on). In a similar vein, agricultural industries have co-constructed a crisis that challenges their ability to operate without the threat of dissenters engaging in direct action. The crisis relies on vilification of an “other”, specifically interpellating the activists’ disidentification as ecoterrorism.

Globalization has increased that terrain through the global borders that place further restrictions of who and what laws can apply to the market, depending on its location. As part of the omnipotent power given to the market within neoliberalism, citizenship is restructured as a client and consumer model (Graeber 2009b:83). The contractual relationship between citizens and the State are defined by capital exchange within the market, and thus to attempt a cease in the capital-contract could potentially

139 nullify citizenship. A citizen choosing not to pay taxes could face criminal charges and result in prison, which would deny them access democratic processes such as voting.

Neoliberalism facilitates a façade of accountability through the rhetoric of market democracy. The challenge for those hoping to dismantle this oppressive reality relies on deconstructing the illusive web of corporate-State alliances that decentralize the deregulated industries. Neoliberalism itself, however, cannot sufficiently describe the ways in which agricultural industries operate within such significant spaces of exceptionality within regulatory rhetoric (Agamben 1998; Agamben 2005).

Neoliberal Capitalism

Anthropologists have engaged State sovereignty as it pertains to various layers of governmentality (Dean 2009; Gupta 2012; Hansen and Stepputat 2001; Nugent 1997).

The layers of governmentality can be understood through Althusser’s Ideological State

Apparatus, Gramsci’s concept hegemony, as well as anthropological articulations of sovereignty. Neoliberal capitalism relies on hegemonic citizenship, specifically through consumers perpetuating corporate power through consumption. Althusser expanded on the work of Marx, but with an emphasis on Gramsci’s concept, hegemony through his

Ideological State Apparatus (ISA) model that provides a structural processing in which ideology [read: power] is a negotiation that is reproduced within hegemonic social apparatuses (Althusser 1970). For Althusser, ideology is not epiphenomenal. It is a process; both reinforced and reified “upward” and “downward.” It is the reproduction of the conditions and means of productions that Althusser focused on. The state enforces its sovereign power through different forms of the Repressive State Apparatus (consent is gained coercively upon threat of violence) whereas the Ideological State Apparatus is a

140 more neutralized site of power. Schools, religion, family units, and arguably, the media- are larger Ideological State Apparatus’ that use subtle and discrete ways to garner consent by making government policies seem ‘in our best interest. Capitalist entities such as corporations are constructed through rhetoric of personhood that not only facilitates hegemonic consumption; it also facilitates vanguard legislation that protects corporations from regulation.

Marx articulated the ways in which commodities are fetishized, and how the act of consumption itself is viscerally tied to how individuals understand themselves in relation to society. However, this commodity fetishism is taken further when the corporations themselves, regardless of economic, environmental, and structural violence they perpetuate, become the fetishized entity. When doctors, teachers, and religious leaders praise companies like Johnson & Johnson, Delta Airlines, and Astra Zeneca as representing the American Ideal, and criticism against these companies treated as thus attacks on the American Ideal, a process of anthropomorphism occurs. In this way, legislation protecting corporations from dissenting criticism mirrors the language and logic of hate crime legislation (Lovitz 2010:93). In doing so, corporations, particularly agricultural industries, manipulate the anthropological concepts of sovereignty and de facto sovereignty as discussed by Agamben, Hansen and Stepttuat, and Mbembe.

Sovereignty, however, is reinforced through public participation in neoliberal and capitalist structures.

Sovereign power is the central, often unrecognized, underside of modern/liberal forms of codified/regulated government (Hansen and Stepputat 2006:297). Broadly defined, sovereignty refers to the ruling power a group or government can posses over a

141 geographical location or group. A type of legal dominion per se. The body is always the site of the performance of sovereign power, and this performance is most visible during states of war, marginality, extreme conditions, and fragmentations (Dean 2009:22). De facto sovereignty is the ability to kill, punish, and discipline with impunity. Agamben’s idea of the dual body of the citizen—the citizen is an included body with rights because he/she is included in the greater political community but there is also a biological body, a life that can be stripped of symbolization and humanity and reduced to “bare life” by a sovereign power (Agamben 1998:6). Agamben makes clear that we need to theorize the relationship between power and one’s bare life. This point contributes to the de facto sovereignty to place certain social actors under surveillance, in interrogation cells, and in solitary confinement within federal prisons.

Ong articulates how citizenship has changed within neoliberal capitalism from an emphasis on a person’s geographical membership to a value of their skills in the market

(Ong 2006:16). Although the U.S. government still maintains a neoliberal performance of democracy, corporations operate as the exception through “corporate sovereignty” (Ong

2006:7). The term corporate sovereignty refers to the exceptional status of capitalist entities awarded through the deregulation of industry and hyper-regulation of public scrutiny. Dara Lovitz examines the absence of effective federal animal protection laws due to the agri-vivisection industries’ lobby presence (Lovitz 2010:38). The Animal

Welfare Act and Endangered Species Act create a continuum of exceptionality for agri- vivisection industries (McCoy 2007:55). The laws utilize the neoliberal rhetoric of animal welfare and environmental stewardship while creating exceptions for highly profitable industries. Corporate sovereignty is naturalized and exercised through the construction of

142 the ecoterrorist within a larger rhetoric of terrorism. The ecoterrorist is constructed as the crisis facing agricultural industries, thus it is necessary to trace the trajectory of this rhetorical construction.

Anthropology of terrorism

The narratives used to describe, define, and reapproriate the events of September

11 have shaped anthropological discourses. Critical anthropologists have interrogated the construction of terrorism, Islamophobia, and the repression of dissent in the United

States. The “War on Terror” narrative crafted and promulgated by President George W.

Bush reshaped vulnerability into aggression as the U.S. went from “victim of terrorists” to “hunter of terrorists” (Hodges 2011:88). The narrative naturalized a shift in sovereignty that led to the rapid establishment of the federal counterterrorism agency, the

Department of Homeland Security (DHS), made up of invasive agencies such as the

Transportation Security Administration (TSA). Sovereignty within the neoliberal moment in the U.S. awards powers and protections to agencies created during the opportunistic

“War on Terror”. Anthropological and linguistic discourses on sovereignty have examined the relationship between capitalism, statecraft, and state power (Chomsky

1992; Chomsky 1999; Chomsky 2004:222; Dean 2009; Hansen and Stepputat 2001; Ong

2006). Chilton examines the rhetorical significance of media portrayals of September 11

(Chilton 2004:154). Dunmire has critiqued the proliferation of Islamophobia through the constructed binaries used to demarcate “victims/terrorists” and “good/bad citizen”

(Dunmire 2011:61). Chomsky examines the U.S. manufacturing of xenophobia through hyperbolic language and patriotism rhetoric (Chomsky 2004:222–226). Lakoff expands on the use of “terrorism” and “evil” as they have been articulated within the frames of

143 metaphor (Lakoff 2001:3). Critical anthropologists have focused on how these discourses of “terrorism” and “war” are used to silence dissent. Graeber historicizes contemporary political repression within a context of violence against direct action protestors in the anti-globalization movement (Graeber 2009b). Price foreshadows this history, focusing on the use of surveillance that targeted and marginalized anthropologists sympathetic with Marxism, Communism, and Socialism (Price 2004:25). Anthropologists have examined discourses of terrorism and government repression of dissent, specifically the deployment of post-September 11 terrorism rhetoric57

Pine elaborates on how restrictive laws redefine terrorist as, “somebody who opposes the state… paving the way to criminalize dissent, to criminalize resistance, to criminalize the right to freedom of speech and freedom of assembly in Honduras”

(Fernandez 2011). Scheper-Hughes and Bourgois examine the use of state-sanctioned violence through institutionalized torture abroad to manufacture consent. The tactic is used globally, but manifests in the U.S. use of, “solitary confinement as a routinized punishment within new ‘super max’ facilities built to contain an ever-expanding number of petty, drug-related offenders in the early twenty-first century” (Scheper-Hughes and

Bourgois 2003:23) . Theorists have expanded upon this continuum of terrorism, drawing parallels between the current political moment and the violent anti-leftist sentiments from decades earlier (Turk 2004). Price historicizes the tactic within the U.S. government of relying on political or social events to restructure the public sphere. Price argues that the government played off of post-war vulnerabilities, such as a struggling economy and

57. Anthropological discourses on terrorism rhetoric examine the linkages between the proliferation and naturalization of Islamophobia and hyperpatriotism (Ahmed 2003:124, Hodges 2011).

144 health epidemics, to naturalize the invasive forms of surveillance during McCarthyism that targeted academics (Price 2004:45). These discourses critique the limits placed on civil liberties and manipulation of international relations.

Construction of “terrorism”

Prior to the events of September 11, “terrorism” was scarcely used in government propaganda nor included in academic discourses (Jackson et al. 2011:1–5). The events ushered in media and government narratives that crafted the binary of victim/terrorist

(Gershkoff and Kushner 2005:525). The binary further established an “us” [white] and

“them” [non-white] dichotomy (Ahmed 2003:37). The public was bombarded with hyperbolic language defending the future U.S. engagement in an offensive war against the omnipresent “terrorists” (Gershkoff and Kushner 2005:527) The term terrorism is intentionally vague and was undefined within the parameters of its use after September

11 (Hodges 2011:39). Terrorism studies scholar, Bruce Hoffman, insists that government agencies define and deploy the term “terrorism” in convenient but inconsistent ways

(Hoffman 2006:32). The television programming produced by the U.S. media consistently used the word “terrorist” while displaying images of Arabs and Muslims in the subsequent days (Ahmed 2003:24). Although international political bodies invoke the term terrorism, there lacks a widely accepted definition that demarcates what it is and it is not. The rhetoric of terrorism relies on this ambiguity, and has been manipulated by the agendas of statecraft (Chomsky 2002:155). The rallying cries for war that echoed after

September 11 demanded increased militarism. This construction of terrorism, however, is intentionally malleable enough to be applied to any persons challenging the State.

145 The government passed the 2001 Patriot Act, which conflated civic duty with the sacrifice of civil liberties (Potter 2011; Esposito and Kalin 2011:30). Despite widespread support at that time, the Patriot Act legally stripped citizens of their right to privacy.

Similar to Decena’s discussion of the hegemonic confessions from the good sexual citizen, the public was given instructions as to how to respond to September 11 in the

U.S. (Decena 2008b:407). The good U.S. citizen’s was to perform patriotism through their complicity. The propaganda from the government and media insisted that the sacrifice of civil liberties would restore safety from “terrorists.” The good U.S. citizen would comply with increased travel restrictions, racial and ethnic profiling, and increased surveillance. In addition, patriotism was conflated with consumerism, as demonstrated by

President George W. Bush’s speech that encouraged citizens to support capitalist enterprises (Skocpol 2002:539). The U.S. public was encouraged to engage in air travel, and there was an increase in the purchasing and flying of the U.S. flag (Ahmed 2003:32).

The federal government continued the offensive campaign in 2003 by creating the

Department of Homeland Security (DHS), an entity specifically designed to,

Prevent terrorist attacks; prevent the unauthorized acquisition, importation, movement, or use of chemical, biological, radiological, and nuclear materials and capabilities within the United States; and reduce the vulnerability of critical infrastructure and key resources, essential leadership, and major events to terrorist attacks and other hazards. [Department of Homeland Security 2012]

The language used to define the agenda of the DHS, however, relies on the vague-yet- powerful rhetoric of terrorism. The media bombarded viewers with images of Al-Qaeda operatives and questioned whether Islam was a “terrorist religion” (Esposito and Kalin

2011:xxxi). The construction of the “terrorist” relied on racist and xenophobic views toward Muslims (Ahmed 2003:34). It remained unclear who the “terrorists” were, and

146 what appropriate responses should be taken to deal with “them”. The DHS was established to monitor the privacies hegemonically chiseled away by the Patriot Act. The events on September 11 and the subsequent days provided a stage for the Establishment to articulate an omnipresent terrorist threat that naturalized increased national security,

State violence and a repressive agenda that promulgated the vague yet powerful labeling of terrorism (Klein 2000:238). The construction of terrorism utilized xenophobic language that established an us/them binary targeting Muslims and those of Arab-descent

(Hodges 2011:47). The blatant discrimination played off of sensationalist media and government narratives about “safety” and “security”. The changing political climate increased restrictions the right for citizens to exercise free speech and dissent (Lovitz

2010:122).

Anarchist antispeciesists do not identify with the blatant disregard agri-vivisection industries display for “safety” and “security” as they pertain to sustainability through deforestation, global patenting of seeds, and genetic manipulation of species used in farming and vivisection (Shiva 2000:29). Through direct action, the activists disidentify with the speciesism naturalized through neoliberal capitalism. In response, the federal government interpellated the activists’ disidentification as ecoterrorism, claiming that agitators posed a threat to safety and security in similar ways to the terrorists of

September 11 (Potter 2011). The State did so by manipulating the vulnerable public post-

September 11 to support a broad security agenda that included heightened surveillance of non-State actors and the introduction of repressive legislation targeting anarchist antispeciesist activists. The blatant (and veiled) use of surveillance and targeted legislation would not have been possible without the proliferation of terrorism rhetoric

147 that conflated activism with a national security threat. Despite the State’s retaliatory interpellation, anarchist antispeciesists did not modify their philosophy or strategy to fit the model [it queers the dichotomous nature] of good versus bad protest(or). When interpellated within these mechanisms of repression, activists chose not to identify as the good subject (Pêcheux 1982:158). Activism that challenged the State and further challenged systems of privilege that statecraft depends upon (capitalism, globalization, and sovereignty) was transformed to distinguish the good protestor (or the patriotic consumer in this case) from the bad protestor, which is most evident in the construction of the ecoterrorist.

Constructing the ecoterrorist

The establishment of the DHS institutionalized the rhetoric of terrorism and used broad-brush strokes to define its purpose. The propaganda used to define the good U.S. citizen was held to demarcate the beliefs and behaviors of the good protestor (Lovitz

2010:114). Graeber emphasized the binary construction of the good protestor/bad protestor during the anti-globalization protests against the World Trade Organization in

1999 (Graeber 2009b). These articulations permeated during the reconfiguration of dissent in the U.S. after September 11 (Dunmire 2011:40). The good protestor would financially contribute to mainstream advocacy charities such as the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (ASPCA) and Save the Rainforest (Graeber

2004:78). The good protestor would participate in green capitalism by purchasing items such as hybrid vehicles (Parr 2009:20). The good protestor would willingly uphold capitalism and unquestionably support the surveillance measures by the government. The

148 good protestor would certainly not challenge economic entities or disrupt commerce of any kind.

The bad protestor, however, called into question the reappropriation of terrorism rhetoric to describe dissent (Jackson et al. 2011:2). The bad protestor continued to challenge capitalism and the ideologies that uphold it. The bad protestor would engage in direct actions that included property destruction rather than leafleting ballot issues. As the months passed following September 11, it was clear that the line between the terrorist and the bad protestor was blurred to provide a retaliatory interpellation of the disidentification of direct action (Leader and Probst 2003; Hoffman 2006:32). The

Deputy Assistant Director and top official in charge of domestic terrorism with the FBI,

John Lewis, testified before the Senate Judiciary Committee in 2004 regarding the threats from domestic terrorists. In the address, Lewis described the animal and earth liberation movement as the number one domestic terrorist threat facing the U.S. (Lewis 2004) . The philosophy of liberation and the strategies of direct action pose an effective challenge to the hegemony of speciesism and capitalism (Nocella and Best 2004:113). The challenges are so threatening that anarchist antispeciesists, the bad protestors, are interpellated by the State as ecoterrorists (Liddick 2006:141). The U.S. government reified the conflation of anarchist antispeciesist with terrorist into law with the passage of the 2006 Animal

Enterprise Terrorism Act.

Animal Enterprise Terrorism Act

The Animal Enterprise Terrorism Act (AETA) is a federal legislation that amended the Animal Enterprise Protection Act of 1992 (AEPA) to broaden its application and increase penalties. A much wider array of nonviolent forms of dissent could now be

149 considered as both federal crime and terrorism. The Act’s use of broad and general language does not definitively explain the nature of “animal enterprise” or what

“interfering with” such an enterprise means, everything from a sit-in to bombing a vivisection laboratory after removing the animals (and harming no humans) might be considered “interference” and thus terrorism. Such loose language specifically enhances the government’s power through interpellation and greatly denies the civil exercise of the first amendment. The Act redefined already State-recognized crimes as federal offenses, and redefined them within the realm of “domestic terrorism.” The AETA became the vehicle for the U.S. Department of Justice to protect corporate sovereignty in response to the high profile cases Operation Backfire and SHAC-7 (Potter 2008a:677–679). The

AEPA already protected many animal industries and instituted a restitution provision that required activists to pay a targeted vivisector to cover costs associated with repeating an animal study that was interrupted or invalidated or farmer the cost of loss of food production (Lovitz 2010:50).

The AEPA established three tiers of prison sentencing penalties in addition to the financial penalties, “(1) for damage exceeding $10,000, one-year imprisonment; (2) for personal injuries caused, up to ten years imprisonment; and (3) for death caused, entire life imprisonment (Lovitz 2010:50). Lovitz interrogates the overlap between politicians that sponsored the Act and agricultural industries.

Consider the business ties of Representative Stenholm, who tirelessly pushed for the Farm Animals and Research Facilities Protection Act and then its amended version, the AEPA. Throughout his congressional career, the United States agricultural industries gave Stenholm more than $2.5 million in donations…Stenholm’s top two contributors were the American Farm Bureau and the National Cattleman’s Beef Association. The Dairy Farmers of America and the United Egg Association also were among Stenholm’s top ten contributors. Stenholm’s third largest contributor was the American Medical Association

150 (AMA). Other Sponsors of the AEPA had financial ties with animal exploitative industries. [Lovitz 2010:51]

Lovitz provides a detailed account of the contributions as well as personal investments of politicians that leveraged their positions to pass the Act. Unhappy with the number of prosecutions and applicability of the Act, an amended version was introduced into

Congress on November 2005. From 1992 to 2005, agricultural industries had experienced millions of dollars worth of damage. The AEPA had the promise of reducing the number of attacks but did not deliver. Following on the rhetorical curtails of September 11, the

AEPA relied on the hysteria surrounding terrorism. One of the most notable distinctions between the AEPA and the AETA is the replacement of the word “Protection” with

“Terrorism,” that explicitly rearticulated animal and ecological activism as terrorism.

Through the lens of terrorism, the AETA granted de facto sovereignty over a much wider range of nonviolent forms of dissent. The Act broadened the definition of “animal enterprise” to include not only commercial, but also academic enterprises that use or sell animals or animal products. It also increased the existing penalties; including fines that are based on the amount of financial damage caused in addition to monetary restitution

Similar to the AEPA, the AETA was introduced and cosponsored by politicians with a blurred connection to agricultural industries. Senator Dianne Feinstein (D-CA) and

Senator James Inhofe (R-OK) each had financial investments in the industries benefiting from the Act, and in the House, Representatives Thomas Petri (R-WI) and Robert Scott

(D-VA) cosponsored the AETA.

Feinstein’s spouse, Richard Blum, is the Chairman of the Board of the CV Richard Ellis Group (CBRE), a large firm that deals in commercial real estate and caters to enterprises that conduct vivisection on nonhuman animals. CBRE proclaims that is ‘dedicated to providing the life sciences industry with the highest level of real estate services,’ as the company, ‘enhance[s] profitability’ of the

151 biotechnology, medical-device, pharmaceutical, and related industries. CBRE represents hundreds of such clients who engage in vivisection including American Pharmaceutical Partners, Astra Zeneca, Bayer Pharmaceuticals, Chiron, DuPont, Eli Lilly and Company, Johnson and Johnson, Merck, Novartis, Pfizer, Schering Ploud, and Wyeth. Inhofe, who has called global warming ‘the greatest hoax perpetrated on the American people,’ owns approximately $250,000 in energy- related businesses, including oil and gas companies. The oil and gas industry has contributed over $1,223,723 to his campaign…The Nuclear Energy Institute has contributed over $65,000 to Inhofe, seeking his support for a nuclear waste dump at Yucca Mountain…Inhofe’s largest contributor, Koch Industries, owns companies involved in chemical processing and forestry projects. In 2004, Inhofe was named “Legislator of the Year” by the National Association of Chemical Distributors…Tom Petri’s website proudly declares his close ties to Wisconsin “animal agriculture.”… Petri heads the Badger Fund, a political action committee whose top contributor is American Foods Group, which owns slaughter facilities. [Lovitz 2010:85–87]

Representative F. James Sensenbrenner (R-WI) chaired the Committee on the Judiciary that oversaw the 2006 Hearing. His financial connections in 2006 were through is ownership of stocks in bonds with pharmaceutical companies including Abbot

Laboratories, Inc. (over $500,000), Pfizer (over $600,000), and Merci & Co. ($1.3 million)(Lovitz 2010:87). The AETA was voted through the Senate with unanimous support, thus a procedure was used to expedite the passage of such “non-controversial bills.” On November 13, 2006, the bill was passed by the House of Representatives and was signed by President George W. Bush on November 27, 2006. The language used to defend the bill argued that it offers the necessary power for the Department of Justice to arrest, prosecute, and convict the activists without going through extensive juridical process. In other words, the Act allows the federal government, as well as state government, to apprehend and arrest social actors without due process, that ultimately denies the accused ecoterrorist access to fair trial. Six Members of Congress were present on the House Floor when the bill was passed. Dennis Kucinich, a Congressman from

152 Ohio, spoke out about how the language of the bill would without a doubt have a chilling effect on the exercise of the constitutional rights of protest (Potter 2008a).

The act redefined already state-recognized crimes as federal offenses termed

“domestic” terrorism. Combined with the passage of the Patriot Act in 2001, the State is able to surveil, infiltrate, and disproportionately penalize activists targeting agricultural industries. Direct action activists advocating economic boycott and public protest have faced trumped up charges related to violating the AETA58. The loosely used terms specifically enhance the government’s sovereignty and greatly deny civil exercise of the first amendment. The AETA was written and sponsored by financially invested politicians to target direct action activists. The D.C.-based journalist, Will Potter, argued that the AETA is not specifically targeting anarchist antispeciesist activists that knowingly engage in illegal direct action. Rather, Potter argues the AETA is meant to instill a chilling silence in aboveground activists that utilize public protest in solidarity with illegal direct actionists. Aboveground activists assume that through legal direct action, the First Amendment protects their access to dissent. The implementation of the

AETA, however, demonstrates that legal direct action can also be targeted within the vague and inclusive language (Potter 2008a).

The AETA stands unique as the only federal policy that targets a specific type of nonviolent activism, a specific ideological position, and deems it terrorism. It is the only

Act that criminalizes an expression of freedom of speech based on the ideological motivations of the social actor. Legal scholar, Kimberely McCoy illustrates how this Act

58. In 2010, four activists with charged with conspiracy to commit “animal enterprise terrorism.” The activists had engaged in chalking the sidewalk, public protest that included chanting and leafleting. The case drew public criticism because of the First Amendment nature of the methods of protest. In 2013, Kevin Johnson and Tyler Lang were arrested for “possession of burglary tools,” and indicted on July 10, 2014 for violating the AETA connected to a mink raid in Illinois.

153 oversteps state sovereignty and targets the actor’s motivations in her legal indictment of the AETA (McCoy 2007:65). McCoy argues, consider, for example, an angry woman who crosses state lines to smash the computers at her husband’s laboratory, release the subjects of his research, and spray-paint the word “adulterer” on the wall after learning that her husband had cheated on her with his research assistant. She might be charged under state laws for crimes such as trespass, property destruction, theft, or vandalism. But if that same woman was driven by an ideological opposition to animal testing, rather than an emotional reaction to her husband’s infidelity, and had spray painted the words “Free the Animals” on the laboratory wall instead of the word “adulterer” she would most likely be charged under the federal AETA as a domestic terrorist for committing the exact same crimes. The actions: trespassing into the lab, breaking the computers, releasing subjects, and vandalizing the wall with spray paint are the same. But, the ideological motivation; to defend animals and challenge the exploitation and enslavement predicated on speciesism define the latter scenario. Thus, the social actor spray-painting

“Free the Animals” is subject to higher fines, increased prison sentencing through terrorism enhancements, as well as the transfer to Communications Management Unit prisons.

The passage of the AETA and the nepotistic overlap between agri-vivisection industries, politicians, and lobby firms demonstrate the contemporary manifestation of neoliberal capitalism through the ability to interpellate [bad] protest as [eco]terrorism.

The targeted legislation simultaneously restricts public access to view and challenge capitalist entities profiting in any capacity off of animal exploitation, while constructing the activists as terrorists. The motivation between the Act relies on capital, both gained

154 through the continued neoliberal structure of these industries and restricting public access to intervene with the practices. Thus, the act offers asylum to all animal enterprises- placing them outside of touch from the activist. The lobby group, the American

Legislative Exchange Council (ALEC), author and advocate legislation that deregulates animal industries while creating unconstitutional barriers to dissent (Lovitz 2010:109).

Although the Board of Directors of ALEC is made up of political representatives that are public stakeholders in agricultural industries, and although the Private Enterprise

Advisory Council is comprised of significant leaders in the oil, vivisection, pharmaceutical, energy, tech, and agribusiness industries, ALEC maintains that, “The

American Legislative Exchange Council works to advance limited government, free markets and federalism at the state level through a nonpartisan public-private partnership of America’s state legislators, members of the private sector and the general public”

(American Legislative Exchange Council - Limited Government · Free Markets ·

Federalism n.d.). Powerful groups like ALEC represent the unique sovereignty held by corporations: the ability to inconspicuously institute and enforce industry regulations and the simultaneous hyper-regulation of dissent (Graeber 2009a:206). ALEC veils the ways in which corporations sponsor repressive laws targeting activists, as well as the ways in which political representatives have back-door relationships with many of the industries they hold the power to deregulate (Potter 2011).

ALEC played a key role in garnering support from politicians and ensuring the

Act would pass without resistance. Sovereignty functions within the nepotism of speciesist capitalism, and facilitates a deeper analysis of the de-regulation of animal industries in relation to the hyper-regulation of those explicitly challenging them. The

155 media sources and government officials applied the language of terrorism after

September 11 to the animal and earth liberation movement (Lovitz 2010:106). The rhetorical function of ecoterrorism was to naturalize the creation of a federal law that transforms constitutionally protected behaviors such as free speech into “domestic terrorism”. The AETA symbolizes a shift in how direct action dissent functions in the

U.S and the available legal constructs through interpellation. Activists within the animal and earth liberation movement have faced increased surveillance, infiltration, and federal criminalization for advocating their philosophy and implementing confrontational tactics

(Potter 2011:56). In addition to the already-hostile sentiment toward the liberation activists, the rhetoric of terrorism following the attacks of September 11 greatly reshaped the political climate in the U.S. (Chomsky 2004:219). The animal and earth liberation movement has been [re]defined and demarcated from other social movements through the conflation of activism and terrorism (Phelps 2007:270). This is particularly visible in the well-publicized capture and arrests of animal and earth liberationists, public trials, implementation of terrorism enhancements, the use of Communications Management

Prisons, and excessive sentencing. Although clandestine underground cells conduct animal and earth liberation acts, the shift in the political climate of dissent since

September 11 has visibly changed the aboveground solidarity movement (Liddick

2006:89). The heightened scrutiny permitted through the Patriot Act has created a culture of surveillance (Best and Nocella 2006:8).

Combined with the passage of the USA PATRIOT Act in 2001, governments can use surveillance and infiltrate organizations recognized under the AETA. The federal government is able to overstep states to prosecute people not only for what they do but

156 also what they thought when they did it. Lovitz (2010) has detailed the stalking, the infiltration of social networks, and the phone recording that was used to build a case against the individuals in this SHAC-7 case. As the SHAC-7 case illustrated, activists can be repressed based also on what they thought about an act before they chose whether or not to pursue it. The rhetoric of conspiracy, a word used throughout United States history to fragment activists, became the basis for many of the charges in the SHAC-7 case. This element of the AETA is one of the central and most revealing aspects of the law.

Within the logic of the AETA, corporations—and the laboratories that house maimed and disfigured animals and inflict physical and psychological violence—are rearticulated as “helpless victims.” Meanwhile, animal liberationists attempting to remove animals from laboratories and using their First Amendment freedom of speech to pressure shareholders are “criminals” and even “terrorists.” Scholar Adrian Parr recounts a similar act of rearticulation with the use of terrorist enhancement charges in the 2007 trial of political prisoner Daniel McGowan (Parr 2009:87). McGowan was arrested along with five other activists as part of the US investigation called Operation Backfire. The six activists collectively faced a 65-count indictment. McGowan was charged with arson and the conspiracy to commit arson for the 2001 Earth Liberation Front actions against

Superior Lumber and Jefferson Poplar Farms in Oregon. McGowan received a “terrorist enhancement” with his sentence and has been placed in highly restrictive

Communications Management Unit prisons in Illinois and Indiana. Parr argues that the public trial and sentencing of McGowan was an act of discursive rearticulation: what was once perceived as activism, or perhaps at the most, a basic criminal act, was

157 rearticulated as “terrorism.” Likewise, with the AETA, the public is led to believe that protest, rather than vivisection, is violence and terrorism.

The modes of resistance, thus, are challenged to locate and target the central site of power. However, the increasingly globalized corporation does not have a central site of power and imagination becomes the site to demand an end to both neoliberalism and capitalism (Graeber 2010:93). The possibilities inherent in imagination allow for creativity and collaboration amongst non-State actors advancing the critique of neoliberalism. The animal and earth liberation movement is faced with the challenge

To be as militant and effective as possible without losing the moral high ground, without alienating public support, and without diluting the values of freedom and compassion. Animal exploiters have no such burden; they seek out only to oppress and to profit from their violence and terrorism. The state has no such burden; it is an apparatus that monopolizes power and violence and exists primarily to crush dissent and promote corporate agendas. [Nocella and Best 2004:57]

Anarchist antispeciesists engage in modes of resistance that rearticulates a potential for social relations and goods-exchange through queer performances of direct action that disidentifies with neoliberal capitalism and speciesism. Specifically, the use of home demonstrations relies on a neoliberal logic in order to expose the inherent exploitation and alienation of neoliberalism itself. The next chapter will examine the ways in which anarchist antispeciesists utilize the strategies and tactics of direct action to demand radical change. Direct action, according to agricultural industries and the State, has placed capitalism in a state of crisis that warrants the creation of targeted legislation and an aggressive State campaign to silence dissent. The State has utilized public tragedy,

September 11, and manipulated the economic crises within the contemporary recession to successfully convince civil society to suspend constitutional freedoms such as Free

158 Speech to protect corporate interests. Anarchist antispeciesists advance their critique of neoliberal capitalism through the use of direct action while simultaneously adopting the hegemonic language of neoliberalism. Through the use of spectacle to create terministic screens that utilize a political imaginary, direct action challenges more than just the domination and exploitation of ecologies. Direct action challenges the fundamental ways in which civil society is organized through ideological state apparatuses.

159 CHAPTER FIVE

DIRECT ACTION AS SPECTACLE

“When taken separately . . . [they] all seem to represent a queer edge in a larger cultural phenomenon. When considered together, they add up to a fierce and lively queer subculture that needs to be reckoned with on its own terms” (Halberstam 2005:154)

“Good news! — The U.S. government decided today that because I did such a good job investigating the cyber-industrial complex, they’re now going to send me to investigate the prison-industrial complex. For the next 35 months, I’ll be provided with free food, clothes, and housing as I seek to expose wrongdoing by Bureau of Prisons officials and staff and otherwise report on news and culture in the world’s greatest prison system. I want to thank the Department of Justice for having put so much time and energy into advocating on my behalf; rather than holding a grudge against me for the two years of work I put into in bringing attention to a DOJ-linked campaign to harass and discredit journalists like Glenn Greenwald, the agency instead labored tirelessly to ensure that I received this very prestigious assignment. — Wish me luck!59”(The Sparrow Project 2015)

The rhetorical and revolutionary potential of anarchist antispeciesist direct action challenge the interpellation of fundamental ideologies and practices of capitalism, industrialization, globalization, and the exploitation of ecologies through language, digital practice, and performance. The international crossover of activists between the

U.K. and the U.S. has provided a global training ground and activist base that is large in scope. Because the corporate-state industrial complex monopolizes access to the social bases of power, particularly violence, non-State actors are always already at a disadvantage to demand radical change. Thus, in order to be seen as powerful, anarchist

59. Barrett Brown, an American journalist and contributor to Vanity Fair and The Guardian, was given a 63-month prison sentence within the Federal Bureau of Prisons. Brown had already been imprisoned for 23 months for charges related to his presumed connections and knowledge of underground hacker activists Anonymous (The Sparrow Project 2015)

160 antispeciesists must queer, or re-envision and rearticulate power itself through performing powerful direct actions. The performance of a public vigil, for example, queer the social and political discourses that do not allow humans to publicly mourn the loss of animal life in laboratories, by exposing, altering, and/or inverting taken for granted understandings and practices of vivisection. The vigil calls into question the precarity of animal lives, through a graphic depiction of how animal suffering, makes visible the invisibility of how speciesism is an accepted part of interpellation of the good citizen

(Butler 2006:22, 46). The use of public performance as direct action calls into question and challenges a slew of accepted truisms: that human animals are more valuable than nonhuman animals; that “doing one’s job” safeguards one from political and/or ethical responsibility; that government and corporate interests are distinct and separate; that legislation is passed for the public good rather than private profit; and, on a different kind of note, that average, everyday people are powerless to change various structures, laws, and customs. Direct action is a queer performance that plays with and transgresses the normative boundaries of society, and it poses an effective, convincing, and powerful critique that queers social/political normativity.

This chapter focuses on anarchist anti-speciesists’ use of direct action as public performance and, more specifically, the use of protest as spectacle to create to terministic screens within Goffman’s metaphor of theater to queer the process of interpellation and create disidentifactory thoughts. The performance enacts disidentification through the humor, satire, intimidation, and what Leap refers to as, “…the social formation of affect”

(Leap 2015:663) The chapter begins with a brief explanation of direct action as a protest strategy followed by an overview of animal liberation campaigns. I then discuss the

161 queering of protest as spectacle through direct action and how this demonstrates disidentification. The chapter concludes with a discussion of how playfulness, a form of disidentification, during home demonstrations as a queer mode of protest.

Direct Action

Voltarine de Cleyre, a U.S. anarchist, first articulated the term direct action in a widely circulated essay published in 1912 that historicized the efficacy of direct action for resistance movements (Nocella and Best 2004:15) Direct action, as defined more recently by Graeber, represents a particularly advanced vision for the remaking of social- capital hierarchies.

Direct action represents a certain ideal…It is a form of action in which means and ends become, effectively, indistinguishable; a way of actively engaging with the world to bring about change, in which the form of the action- or at least, the organization of the action- is itself a model for the change one wishes to bring about. At its most basic, it reflects a very simple anarchist insight: that one cannot create a free society through military discipline, a democratic society by giving orders, or a happy one through joyless self-sacrifice. At its most elaborate, the structure of one’s own act becomes a kind of micro-utopia, a concrete model for one’s vision of a free society. [Graeber 2009b:210]

Direct action is not defined solely by the physical act, but also the ideological underpinnings and symbolic meaning the act represents. Within this logic, direct action is not a label of tactic demarcation, but rather it is an inclusive framework to conceptualize activism (Thompson 2010:57). Direct action allows for politically repressed and marginalized peoples to reclaim power in the streets through the spectacle of the protest

(Shepard, Bogad, and Duncombe 2008:273). Graeber expands on the significance of direct action as a transgressive experience that empowers an individual to politically engage in a specific action, while participating in a global struggle for liberation from oppressive structures (Graeber 2004:84). Laura Knaiz defines animal and earth liberation

162 within the framework of direct action as, “…the use of clandestine, illegal tactics to (1) free animals, (2) educate the public about the oppression of nonhumans, and (3) inflict economic harm on animal enterprises” (Knaiz 1995:765). Although all actions taken in defense of animals are important, direct action implies there is no intermediary. Direct action creates a queer space—i.e., an open space in which people are invited and even encouraged to play with and transgress normative boundaries. Such a space enables politically repressed and marginalized peoples to reclaim power (Butler 2011; Muñoz

1999; Pêcheux 1982). Rather than relying on someone else to make social change, the participants push for that change themselves. These actions are further defined within the parameters of nonviolence, ensuring that acts of property destruction are carefully planned to ensure no physical harm (Best et al. 2007:4). The public access to global media and social forums has provided the platform for a global solidarity movement.

Communiqués are posted to the internet moments after an action has taken place.

Photographs and videos can be accessed on the internet from across the world. The support systems for political prisoners far expand physical boundaries of geography. The political terrain has been remade through the technorevolution. Anarchist antispeciesists that engage in direct action have noted the shift in tactics since the proliferation of the

Stop Huntingdon Life Sciences (SHAC) campaign originating in the U.K. The types of tactics, as well as the articulation of the strategies, of anarchist antispeciesist direct action can be understood through the SHAC model.

There are four hallmarks of the SHAC model broken down by the CrimethInc.

Ex-Workers’ Collective: secondary and tertiary targeting, complementary relationship between public and underground organizing, diversity of tactics, and concrete targets

163 with concrete motivations. The CrimethInc. Ex-Workers’ Collective is, “a decentralized anarchist collective composed of many cells which act independently in pursuit of a freer and more joyous world,” that provides an anonymous and virtually accessible portal for,

“publishing and distributing literature and free propaganda, as well as occasionally circulating information about other cells’ activities” (CrimethInc. Ex-Workers Collective n.d.). The SHAC model, a direct action campaign, utilizes a method of naming, shaming, and blaming individuals who hold top positions with secondary and tertiary corporations connected to the international vivisection and breeding lab, Huntingdon Life Sciences

(HLS)60. The strategy is used to target HLS through pressuring clients, shareholders, connected financial institutions, and associated corporations to sever their ties with HLS.

The tactics used span a continuum of legality, and range from street protests, leafleting, home demonstrations, to aggressive forms of sabotage including arson (Marut

2009). The SHAC model not only challenges the notion of accountability by targeting secondary and tertiary companies, but the campaign also queers the realm of tactical approaches. For example, the SHAC campaign has used tactics that include black faxing

(the looped sending of completely black fax pages to drain ink and occupy the line), website defacement and data theft, denial-of-service attack, unsolicited subscription for mailings, services, and goods, and publicizing personal information of targets with the intent to elicit harassment. These tactics queer the spectrum of protest within the realm of animal advocacy by crossing accepted boundaries—by playing with the lines of

60. The SHAC campaign, described in the previous chapter, was founded in the U.K. in 1999 after a series of successful pressure campaigns targeting breeding facilities and investigative footage taken inside Huntingdon Life Sciences laboratories. Animal liberation activist, Kevin Jonas, traveled to Britain and participated in the British SHAC campaign. In 2001, the SHAC USA campaign began to take shape following the financial backing of Stephens, Inc. based out of Arkansas of HLS.

164 acceptability and introducing ideas, practices, and forms of dissent and resistance. In many ways, then, that SHAC campaign sits at the cutting edge of direct action and radical social change.

This model is based on three tier approach which includes, “…campaigning against customers who provide HLS with an income and profits; suppliers who provide

HLS with vital tools to carry out research and financial links such as shareholders, market makers and banking facilities” (SHAC (Stop Huntingdon Animal Cruelty) 2012). The

SHAC campaign is cited globally as the impetus behind smaller grassroots animal liberation campaigns that utilize secondary and tertiary targeting. One of the sites of research in this project include the D.C. based campaign, DARTT, emerged in the mid

2000’s and utilized the dense-population of targets within the surrounding area. The tactic of secondary and tertiary targeting is particularly useful because it casts a wide net while placing one targeted corporation as the center nexus.

Starbucks could easily afford a thousand times the cost of the windows smashed by the black bloc during the Seattle WTO protests, but if no one would replace those windows—or the windows had been broken at the houses of investors, so no one would invest in the corporation—it would be another story. SHAC organizers made a point of learning the inner workings of the capitalist economy, so they could strike most strategically…The targets do not have a vested interest in continuing their involvement with the primary target. There are other places they can take their business, and they have no reason not to do so. This is a vital aspect of the SHAC model. If a business is cornered, they’ll fight to the death, and nothing will matter in the conflict except the pure force each party is able to bring to bear on the other; this is not generally to the advantage of activists, as corporations can bring in the police and government… Somewhere between the primary target and the associated corporations that provide its support structure, there appears to be a fulcrum where action is most effective. It might seem strange to go after tertiary targets that have no connection to the primary target themselves, but countless HLS customers have dropped relations after a client of theirs was embarrassed. [Marut 2009]

165 The relationship between public and underground organizing is also a noted element to the SHAC model. The campaign coalesces the tensions within social movements that both resists technological dependence because it removes the necessary physical space for social organizing and yet relies on technology to disseminate literature widely and anonymously. The SHAC websites, “…disseminated information about targets and provided a forum for action reports to raise morale and expectations, enabling anyone sympathetic to the goals of the campaign to play a part without drawing attention to themselves” (Marut 2009). The diversity of tactics within the campaign addressed the tendency for social movements to experience splinters over divisive tactics. To that end, the SHAC model integrated limitless array of tactics that inclusively welcomed a broad range of activists. The fourth hallmark of the SHAC model is the selection and targeting of a specific corporation that allow activists to collectivize in a concrete way. CrimethInc.

Ex-Workers’ Collective reiterates the power of this narrowing technique:

The fact that there were specific animals suffering, whose lives could be saved by specific direct action, made the issues concrete and lent the campaign a sense of urgency that translated into a willingness on the part of participants to push themselves out of their comfort zones. Likewise, at every juncture in the SHAC campaign, there were intermediate goals that could easily be accomplished, so the monumental task of undermining an entire corporation never felt overwhelming. This contrasts sharply with the way momentum in certain green anarchist circles died off after the turn of the century, when the goals and targets became too expansive and abstract. It had been easy for individuals to motivate themselves to defend specific trees and natural areas, but once the point for some participants was to “destroy civilization” and everything less was mere reformism, it was impossible to work out what constituted meaningful action. [Marut 2009]

The SHAC model provides a direct action strategy and a series of tactics to intercept both the ideology of speciesism and specific mechanisms of exploitation. Within neoliberal capitalism, agricultural industries function within many ideological state apparatuses and

166 the State apparatus itself that decentralize and veil powerholders. The power held by the industries is thus framed as diffuse rather than concentrated, which makes it difficult to determine whom to target with the demand for radical change. Direct action inspired by the SHAC model acknowledges the ways in which industries are interconnected, but allows for individual localized targeting with tangible goals. Rather than lobby for indirect legislation that may regulate the use of animals within the industries, direct action disengages with the legislative process altogether. However, to an individual activist, it feels intangible or outside of the scope of reason that they can open all cages or intercept all sites of ecological exploitation61. The SHAC model isolates a target and directs all pressure tactics toward said target. This creates the façade of accountability that there is an identifiable entity that has been identified and accused of perpetrating speciesism.

Activists that endorse legal and illegal direct action claim that tactics that do not directly intercept exploitation are inadvertently supporting it. Steven Best, Professor of

Philosophy and animal liberation advocate, has written extensively on the tensions within the animal advocacy movement over the efficacy of direct action. He argues that because the mechanisms of speciesism are, “…forces of hell-bent on exploiting animals and the earth for profit whatever the toll…the corporate social war against nature,” there is a new civil war between the industries and the activists (Best n.d.). The three-pronged approach of direct action for ecological liberation includes, “…the Animal Liberation Front (ALF) employs sabotage, Stop Huntingdon Animal Cruelty (SHAC) uses strong intimidation

61. The use of the term ecological refers to living entities. This includes human animals, other- than-human animals, biological ecosystems, natural resources, and genetic engineering.

167 tactics, and militant animal liberation groups such as the Animal Rights Militia, the

Justice Department, and the Revolutionary Cells openly advocate violence against animal abusers” (Best n.d.) Best critiques those who engage in nonviolent civil disobedience to challenge industries of violence by arguing that if one does not stop bloodshed, they are adopting a pro-violence stance by not taking adequate measures to stop it. Within the moral paradigm of demarcating activists as terrorists or freedom fighters, activists have relied upon historical comparisons that demonstrate the relativism of these labels.

Activists draw literal and symbolic ties between speciesism and other systems of oppression linked to genocide such as racism and slavery, as well as anti-Semitism and the Jewish Holocaust. (Nibert and Fox 2002; Patterson 2002; Spiegel and Walker 1997).

Jewish Holocaust survivor and political activist, Elie Wiesel, stated during his 1986

Nobel Acceptance Speech, “I swore never to be silent whenever and wherever human beings endure suffering and humiliation. We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented” (Elie

Wiesel 1986). Direct action activists articulate a similar sentiment in their dismissal of indirect action (lobbying, bureaucratic and legislative campaigning, public gatherings not connected to an action) as being implicit in the existing ideologies of speciesism, neoliberal capitalism, and globalization. These tactics require little time compared to the bureaucratic processes involved with legal analyses, drafting regulatory policies and reforms, and schmoozing people behind closed doors. Direct action, as the term implies, directly challenges those in power through time-efficient, cost-effective tactics that rely on activist energy and creativity. However, there are many public critiques by activists

168 that distance themselves from direct action tactics, particularly inspired by the SHAC model.

The use of direct action has been challenged not just by the targeted institutions and State apparatus, but also by activists that claim to be sympathetic to the movement.

These challenges claim direct action is violent, ineffective, and detrimental to the movement at large. Within both activist and academic circles, there remains a polarizing debate on the continuum of violence (Nocella and Best 2004). The direct actions of anarchist antispeciesists include many illegal tactics of vandalism, property destruction, sabotage, burglary, and theft (of animals) (Grubbs and Loadenthal 2011b; Grubbs and

Loadenthal 2011c) Steven Best claims that the critiques of direct action fail to understand political struggle within the limited rhetoric of good protestor/bad protestor. Best states:

Many critics of the ALF, SHAC, and direct action tactics poorly understand what makes social change movements possible and effective. They rely on a naive model of political struggle and human nature that assumes rational dialogue can solve all conflicts. They use facile generalizations such as "violence is always wrong" and "ALF actions always get bad publicity" that are flat out wrong. In addition, they consistently misrepresent direct action advocates as naively believing that sporadic acts of vandalism and intimidation alone can win animal liberation. Looking at modern social history, it is clear that civil disobedience, property destruction, and violence have been important political tactics for the American Revolution, the abolition of slavery, labor and national independence movements, suffragette struggles, and the civil rights movement. Similarly, the history of the ALF and SHAC shows that break-ins, liberations, property destruction, arson, and intimidation tactics have completely shut down some operations, weakened others, and provided otherwise unobtainable documentation of animal exploitation in fur farms, vivisection labs, and elsewhere. As evident in the 1980s era of ALF-PETA press conferences, the exposes of Huntingdon Life Sciences (HLS), and the summer 2003 attacks on foie gras chefs and restaurants in the Bay area, dramatic sabotage and direct action methods often get good press that reform campaigns cannot generate. This valuable publicity exposes vicious industry practices and sparks important public dialogue about animal wrongs and animal rights. Whereas advocates of direct action such as Paul Watson, Rod Coronado, and Kevin Jonas use inclusive approaches that acknowledge the validity of different approaches in different situations, critics of direct action wield exclusive approaches that deny the need for and validity of a plurality of

169 tactics -- both legal and illegal, aboveground and underground. Mainstream "exclusionists" speak ex cathedra as if they alone possess Truth and can infallibly predict which tactic will work. (Best n.d.)

The critiques of direct action often privilege nonviolent indirect action as the only effective method to bring about change. This sentiment is echoed in the erasure of illegal direct action in the retelling of successful social movements’ history. Despite the challenges to these critiques, there remains a dominant discourse surrounding the dichotomized good protestor/bad protestor. Direct action is situated within the construct of the bad protestor as a method that is limited because of the use of violence. Within this critique, methods of property destruction and obstruction are framed as violence. This framing is challenged by activists and academics that point to the ways in which anarchist antispeciesists emphasize protecting all forms of life through carefully planned and implemented tactics that only target mechanisms of violence (Jensen 2012). In addition, defenders of direct action argue that the real violence is being perpetrated by agricultural industries, that as industries commodify ecological entities there is a violent dispossession of resources and habitats, and many cite the anarchist principle that property itself is violence through theft (Best et al. 2007; Best and Nocella 2006; Harvey

2004; Proudhon 1840).

The dialectics of effective/ineffective, direct/indirect, single issue/intersectional coalition, and violent/nonviolent remain the significant splinters within the animal and ecological advocacy movements. These debates become more visibly polarizing between the three overarching tenets of the advocacy movement: the animal welfare movement/ecological conservation movement, the animal rights movement/ecological

170 sustainability, and the animal and ecological liberation movement.62 I have previously conducted ethnographic studies focusing on traditional animal rights organizations that utilize indirect action and publicly condemn illegal direct action taken by anarchist antispeciesists. In 2011, I began attending home demonstrations with DARTT and the

Occupy Movement. The critiques of direct action dominate social movement discourses within the mainstream media as well as in academic disciplines.

Academic discourses reinforce the privilege of indirect action by co-constructing the rearticulation of social movement histories to erase the effectiveness of direct action that violently confronted systems of violence and successfully brought about radical social change (Pellow 2014). I was hesitant to engage in direct action and was entrenched in these academic and mainstream discourses. I began this project with the belief that direct action was too confrontational to gain public support and relied on masculinist and militant rhetoric that was ineffectively aggressive (Adams 2010; Donovan and Adams

2007; Adams and Donovan 1995). Somewhat naively, I found the targeting of individual corporations and employees to rely on neoliberal logic that ignored the interconnectedness of powerholders. As I continued to attend home demonstrations affiliated with the animal liberation movement, began networking with anarchists in the

D.C. area, and immersed myself in primary sources from direct action activists, it became

62. The ideological divisions between these social movements, though oftentimes described as being a part of an overarching advocacy movement are based on the stance on speciesism. The welfare and conservation movement accept the ideology of speciesism but argue humans can alleviate some of the “undue” suffering. The animal rights and ecological sustainability movement challenge speciesism under the constraints of a rhetoric of rights. Animals and ecological systems should be awarded rights and it is then human obligation to protect those rights. The animal and ecological liberation movement, however, challenges the notion of rights as relational privilege. These activists believe that liberation from exploitation is necessary for survival and challenge the speciesist notion that humans posses a unique ability to act rationally in the relationship of rights. Liberation is justified by any means necessary.

171 clear something more was going on. The performances, or the spectacle of direct action, did not just refuse to submit to the good versus bad protestor dichotomy, the performances queered the dichotomization itself and created alternative forms of disidentification.63

The chants, press releases, proclamations, and tactics are so blatantly neoliberal that it simply is not hegemonic ignorance. I attended demonstrations organized by several anarchist antispeciesist campaigns that were announced through social media. The campaigns spanned across the U.S. and in St. Catharines, Canada. For archival and legal purposes, many of these demonstrations were recorded and archived by activists. During the demonstrations, I took extensive field notes and my own video footage. The texts used in this chapter include the transcripts I recorded from demonstrations outside of corporations and individual homes, my personal interactions with participants and observers, and website material (including footage from other related demonstrations) from anarchist anti-speciesist. I also reviewed online videos of demonstrations with these campaigns, some of which I did not personally attend.64 All of the movement organizations and campaigns included in this analysis have made explicit references to the SHAC model as an influence on their use of direct action.

63. Primary sources include Press Office websites, activist-academic collaborative books, CrimethInc literature, investigative footage, videos of actions, and communiqués. I also made personal connections with activists and began attending convergences that were primarily activist-based rather than academic.

64. In the Washington, D.C. area, there is a visible activist that attends many demonstrations in various anti-oppression movements to capture video footage and publish. The activist has his own Youtube channel, and also submits video to DCindymedia.org. In other cities, videos were obtained through online sources.

172 The direct action campaigns included in this analysis provided rich ethnographic texts gathered through personal experience, video footage, and online first-hand accounts from activists. In addition, the campaigns are able to “perform” animal liberation through digital media in ways that further queer traditional academic understandings of a social movement. As a form of text, these online “performances” were archived over the last two years and serve as part of the corpus included in the study. The texts analyzed are woven throughout, and challenge the incorrect assumptions that informed my original hypothesis that confrontational direct action relied too heavily on masculinist and neoliberal modes of activism. Direct action activists are not simply angry individuals who got a hold of a bullhorn and spent the afternoon taking out their frustrations with the world on one neoliberal subject who works for a vivisection company. The presentation of blame and shame is a rhetorical performance that relies on a stage, actors, and a script.

These are complicated demonstrations that are filled with tension and contradiction between the more prissy and explicit chants and the methodical proclamations delivered by key organizers. The demonstration attendees rely on different elements of political theatre to highlight aspects of neoliberalism in order to expose it. These tensions became an informative source of text for analysis, “I argue that the best opportunities for analysis arise when it is difficult to see how this coherence has been achieved: where there seem to be logical gaps, logical clashes, and unexpected silences, or disturbances and violations of the presumed default universal structures of narrative” (Hill 1995:159).

Utilizing Jane Hill’s optimism regarding inconsistencies in the text, this analysis emphasized the different rhetorical tactics and their significance in the overall success of the demonstrations.

173 After carefully reading through the texts of the home demonstrations with

DARTT in 2011, I saw a pattern with the symbolic exaggeration of neoliberalism and, interestingly, a pattern of contradictions between the proclamations and the chants. As linguistic performance, these speech acts are dynamic in their use of voice. I adopted the framework of text analysis presented by Hill and her emphasis on inconsistencies and gaps in coherence within the narrative. Through a textual analysis comparing the proclamations to the chants, I measure these inconsistencies using Hill’s concept of voice as she demonstrated with the many voices of Don Gabriel. The confrontational direct action that took place on the lawn of MarineLand during 2013 Opening Day

Demonstration created a public performance that highlighted contradictory voices that included playful chants and confrontational rhetoric. I noted the confrontational chants used during the demonstration, “Their blood, their blood, their blood is on YOUR hands,” “Your ticket. YOUR FAULT. Your money. YOUR FAULT,” and how they contradicted the individual dialogue activists attempted through the chain-link fence that physically separated them MarineLand customers entering the park, “Ma’am, why would you want to show your child such cruelty toward those beautiful creatures. Please teach your child compassion” (Grubbs 2013b). Within a five minute time span, one activist would shift their voice from more a neoliberal performance while speaking with an individual about pay admission to the park to an aggressive call-and-return chant with activists.

The literature on drag performance and political theater further contribute to the theoretical framework, as these texts historicize the tactics of political theatre and articulate its liberatory potential. This project makes significant contribution to the

174 anthropological theorizing of social movements. Gramsci provided a frame to understand how individuals participate in systems of domination, further articulated by Louis

Althusser (1971). Rosa Luxemburg, however, clarified that although individuals participate in the reproduction of oppressive systems, they are not fools (Glaberman

2012:31). This analysis extends that sentiment to activists, emphasizing the rhetorical efficacy of play and performance during home demonstrations. Applying Luxemburg’s empowering sentiment regarding workers under capitalism, the activists are not fools in their loud, confrontational, aggressive public performances that narrowly blame systemic issues on individual capitalists and vivisectors (Glaberman 2012:31). They are, in fact, creating a public theatre for onlookers to view the conditions in which capitalism, speciesism, and neoliberalism is foolishly accepted and promulgated by the viewer. The fool is the hegemonic viewer.

Play as powerful resistance

As a challenge to the neoliberal moment, Graeber encourages activists to utilize the political and social imaginary (Gusterson, Besteman, and Ehrenreich 2009:93) This type of mobilization is predicated on the imagined reality of a post-capitalist and post- neoliberal society. Political theatre taps into this imaginary through the inherent play in exaggerating neoliberal individualism and choice through disidentification. According to activist and performance theorist Benjamin Shepard, play creates “open spaces where new sets of rules and social relations take shape. Play refers to the jest infused with satirical performance that brings joy and lightheartedness to otherwise serious and enraged activism. Here social actors feel compelled to participate in a broader social change drama” (Shepard 2010:244). Shepard argues that these types of direct actions

175 serve to empower individuals that are systematically excluded from bureaucratic decision-making processes; rather than passively accepting the laws, rules, and regulations made by detached decision makers, people directly participate in the reconstruction of alternative reality. That reality may not be wholesale or long term, but it is, at the very least, the creation of a new now that challenges a targeted grievance. The ability to create and recreate shared realities during a direct action relies on playfulness exemplified by a series of sarcastic and satirical rituals such as collective chants. The spectacle of the protest queers, in other words, it re-imagines and rearticulates, the ways in which dissent is performed and understood.

As discussed in Chapter One: Introduction, anarchist antispeciesists are not the first to use play and political theater, and key theorists used in this analysis have examined political performance through Pêcheux’s (as an extension of Althusser) framework of disidentification (Althusser 1971; Muñoz 1999; Shepard 2011; Pêcheux

1982). Although it is outside the aim and scope of this project to recount the complicated history of these strategies, it is suffice to say play and political performance are part and parcel of most if not all contemporary social movements: the Occupy movement, the

Quebec student strikes, the anti-Iraq war movement, the global justice movement, ACT-

UP and the anti-HIV/AIDS movement, Abbie Hoffman and the Yippies, etc (Shepard,

Bogad, and Duncombe 2008; Shepard 2010; Shepard 2013; Shepard 2011; Shepard and

Hayduk 2002; Shepard 2013). Playful demonstrations and theatrical protests create a public space, a spectacle, to challenge oppressive systems such as homophobia, globalization, economic inequality, and health disparities. Direct action, through its boundary blurring of the public and private sphere, brings marginalized issues to such

176 centers of daily life as shopping districts and residential neighborhoods. Social movements use play to creatively fuse critiques of social structures with such joyful activities as drum circles, dance, and song. For example, the use of political theatre was an important strategy during the 1980’s HIV/AIDS advocacy movement.

From ACT UP to Circus AMOK, queer activism challenged systems of power with exaggerated mimicry on the public stage of the streets. Circus AMOK organized home demonstrations that targeted defense subcontractors in an effort to challenge the disproportionate government budget for defense rather than public health (Shepard

2010:258). In effort to queer the anti-war effort, campaigns such as Absurd Response to an Absurd War emerged and relied on the strategic rhetoric of exaggeration. Activists utilized public die-ins and drag races to draw attention to the health disparities and violence disproportionately inflicted on the gay community in New York City. Play, as a political strategy, refers to the playful jest infused with satirical performance that brings lightness to otherwise fiery activism. Drag races, whether it is a reenactment of Judy

Garland’s funeral or marking the anniversary of the police violence at Stonewall Inn, manage to mix glitter, fishnet stockings, and holistic political analyses of queer repression. Similarly, bullhorns, posters of maimed animals, and elaborate neoliberal proclamations strategically coincide during home demonstrations to embody a critique to neoliberalism, capitalism, and speciesism.

The use of playfulness is quite telling in the face of its topic and target—animal abuse and exploitation. Activists utilize the empowering nature of play as an attempt to counter the overwhelming sense of loss of animal lives. Continually thinking about the overwhelming sense of animal cruelty and repeatedly protesting outside of a lobster

177 restaurant or a university laboratory is emotionally exhausting. Constantly reminding oneself of the millions of animals that are killed dominates the work of an animal liberationist. The power structure is so blatantly controlled by animal oppressors that even the most strident campaign can appear miniscule compared to multi-billion dollar agri-vivisection industries. Shepard elaborates on how a sense of loss can strengthen community, “…feelings of loss lingered within a tense struggle to create a different kind of space. People needed a space to come together. I think what drove people to ACT

UP…it brought together people who were desperate for some kind of cultural, social, political change, like now. Not tomorrow, but right now. It was a place where a new generation of activists found their voices” (Shepard 2010:246). The statistics remain glaring to those holding the signs. Every second, every minute, and by the end of the hour, millions of animal bodies have been maimed, raped, and murdered. While activists chant and march, the reality of those animal bodies remains starkly within conscience.

Thus, it could be argued that direct action activists are mobilized on the basis of desperation rather than rhetorical strategy. That assumption, however, does not account for the movement’s articulation of a multi-pronged approach. Perhaps some of the activists attending a demonstration are initially motivated by feelings of urgency and desperation, but that does not embody the movement as a whole. Political theatre and home demonstrations rely on the empowering nature of play as an attempt to counter the overwhelming sense of loss of animal lives. Play is a way to combat these negative emotions—it is a cathartic release and a creative re-channeling of one’s emotional life.

Play enables animal activists to laugh even while confronting some of the worst atrocities committed by fellow humans.

178 While recounting the animal abuses through a megaphone, activists may intersperse a call-and-return chant to lighten the tense atmosphere. For instance, MAD activists in Niagara Falls, Canada had gathered outside the home of John Holer, founder of the Marineland amusement park. Holer and Marineland were targeted because the amusement park’s animal exhibits are not only exploitive, but also negligent and cruel, keeping animals in unsanitary and unsafe conditions. The demonstration concluded with a remix of Carly Rae Jepsen’s dreadful (but catchy) radio hit “Call Me Maybe,” changing the lyrics from “Hey I just met you and this is crazy. But here’s my number so call me maybe” to “Hey, shitheads, I just met you and this is crazy. But you can’t have my number so don’t call me. Ever!” The activists’ playful remix was directed at the Niagara

Regional Police (NRP) who had been present for the entire demonstration. One demonstrator shared a video and commented that, “five hours with the NRP. We ended it off with a dance party blasting ‘Call Me Maybe’ into their cars. Don't call me. Ever.”

(This quote was found on a 2012 Facebook post). The song and dance party was obviously done in jest, which helped create an uplifting and “spectacular” moment for the activists engaged in a long campaign against Marineland. Again, this was a shift in voice from the aggressive proclamations direct at Holer to the playful singing toward the NRP.

The activists, through this shift in voice, queered the spectacle of the protest as both confrontational and festive.

The creativity and playfulness of such direct action queers the ways in which marginalized peoples can confront systems of power. SHAC activists, for instance, commonly infuse their chants, proclamations, and printed materials with humor and

179 sarcasm. But this humor and sarcasm are also aggressive, seeking to effect serious social change. As SHAC-7 defendant Josh Harper states:

This was the threat of Stop Huntingdon Animal Cruelty; we saw through all of the social conditioning that tells us that we are too weak to effect change. We went straight to the homes of those in power, challenged them on their golf courses, [and] and screamed at them while they vacationed at summer homes. We were the barbarians at the gate, an alliance of the kind of people who did not usually get heard by the mega-rich of the world. Tooth and nail we went after their profits, and along the way refused to divide and fracture over broken windows or graffiti. Everyone was welcome if they would fight, and I smile so big [that] it hurts when I think of the grandmothers, the punks, the students, and all the other unlikely comrades who marched together in defiance of the false hierarchy that tells us to keep separate and leave the rich to their own devices. We didn’t stay in our place. In fact, we recognized that our place was wherever the hell we chose, and the world of finance and animal abuse was rocked as a result. (Harper n.d.)

Harper illustrates how home demonstrators blend both humor and creative aggression into an effective campaign. The strategic use of humor, in combination with physical performance, infuses power into play. A playful chant, such as when protestors would shout, “Holer is Voldemort,” can help to interrupt activists’ aggressive proclamations and heated interactions with neighbors.65 That humor then places people at ease, which can actually aid the persuasiveness of the direct action. The fact that any activist can (more or less) spontaneously create and lead a chant at any point during the demonstration also establishes a more open space. In this way, then, the playfulness of chants reflects a wider goal and vision: to create a more inclusive, bottom-up social order in which everyone, both humans animals and other-than-human animals, are able to live freely and joyously.

65. John Holer, the owner of Marineland, is the target of the Marineland Animal Defense campaign against the Marineland amusement park. Activists used the chant to make a humorous comparison between Holer and the fictional character (and leader of the evil group of witches and wizards called Death Eaters) from J.K. Rowling’s series Harry Potter.

180 The concern, as raised by gender theorists with regard to drag performance, is the degree to which mimicry actually subverts rather than reinscribes ideology. The skepticism questions the agency of the activism because, “…even when self-consciously addressed to the matter of gender, drag can reinscribe dominant ideology-not because it provides an exemplary resolution into that system [as in the literature on ritual reversal] but because the subject of conscious manipulation can never fully enter into the realm of the unconscious” (Morris 1995:584). Judith Butler interrogated the subversive potential of drag performance, though Butler and other queer theorists remain skeptical of the hegemonic constraints that can hinder this liberatory potential (Butler 2011:90–95;

Muñoz 1999:89–115; Halberstam and Volcano 1999:2–7, 35–39). She suggests that,

“…drag fully subverts the distinction between inner and outer psychic space and effectively mocks the expressive model of gender and the notion of a true gender identity” (Butler 1990:174). Drag, according to Butler, moves the “reality” of gender into crisis mode as it blurs the naturalized boundaries artificially created that link masculine to men and feminine to women (Butler 1990:xxiii). This blurring of reality calls into question what constitutes gender and the constructed sources of knowledge about gender, further opening space to challenge the shaky reality of gender as social creation. This shift in mental frame can serve as an impetus to a radical rethinking of gender as a social construct. Similarly, the exaggeration of neoliberalism within the street theatre of satirical negotiation can shift the way audiences conceptualize their own position within neoliberal capitalism. “Audience” remains a loose construct, ranging from those passing by on the street to those watching from within their homes, to those who will view the

181 protest online later that evening. The potentiality for change is vast, and the subversion of neoliberal norms is glaring.

Play, and particularly the performance of neoliberal exaggeration, relies on exposing the disjointed relationship between the signifying system (neoliberal capitalism) and the reality (alienated labor and mystified perceptions of individual power) that is facilitated by ideology. The use of play during home demonstrations “…is part of a larger holistic framework for social change, which includes a clear, well-articulated proposal, an analysis, media advocacy, and an element of freshness and surprise, with a jigger of intelligence, play, and performance” (Shepard 2010:273). The tactic of exaggeration exposes the ludicrous disillusions of neoliberal capitalism, and it relies on a combination of other tactics as well. Public demonstrations are oftentimes preceded or followed by educational forums such as a teach-in or film screening. The DARTT collective as well as The Bunny Alliance have co-sponsored teach-ins that involved showing a documentary about various animal industries at a community space in conjunction with a punk music show. The MAD campaign partnered with the U.S.-based anarchist initiative

“Punk Rock Karaoke Northeast” that creates a space for activists to gather outside of the public demonstration and strengthen community surrounding an oftentimes-shared identification with punk music66. In other cases, organizers schedule a film screening featuring a political documentary and provide dinner prepared by activists or a local Food

66. While in St. Catharines in 2012, I met the founder of Punk Rock Karaoke. He had traveled from the U.S. and was also connected to Powell. The events serve a social function to gather activists in an informal, recreational space that solidifies a sense of common identity. The project, alongside the sister project, Punk Rock Karaoke Chicago, also raise funds for prisoner support networks, activist legal defense funds, and various political support avenues.

182 Not Bombs chapter.67 Direct action activists insist that political engagement must continue after the demonstration ends, as well as playful release from the violent realities in agri-vivisection industries detailed at the demonstration. It is not uncommon to see an overlap at political events and run into the same people participating in film screenings,

DIY shows, workshops, skill set trainings, and public protests. These events are often insular and exist to solidify rather than promulgate, thus strengthen internal community and commitments. The public protest, however, creates a spectacle because the intended audience is not those with affinity politics.

The MarineLand Animal Defense Opening Day demonstration illustrated this spectacular use of both private social gatherings to solidify community and political resolve within the AELM, while anarchist antispeciesist organizers simultaneously mobilized confrontational direct actions that promulgated a critique of speciesism and authoritarianism to those outside the AELM. The 2013 Opening Day demonstration was preceded by targeted memes, tweets, and other forms of outreach shared through digital media. In the days leading up to the demonstration, organizers held a bake sale sponsored by the Toronto Vegan Baking Militia, there were merchandise sales promoted through digital media, and punk shows that distributed leaflets condemning MarineLand. These were smaller, in-group acts of solidification, but they do not move the campaign into the realm of the spectacle. The demonstration provided a stage for activists to engage in

67. Food Not Bombs emerged after the arrests of antinuclear activists were arrested at the Seabrook Nuclear power station in New Hampshire. The collective wanted to critique the excessive military spending and investments in nuclear weapons. In playful jest, activists purchased military uniforms and donned the uniforms while attempting to sell baked goods they claimed would fund a bomber. The performance was less about raising funds, and more about raising awareness of the absurd allocation of federal funds. Chapters of Food Not Bombs emerged in over 60 countries, totaling over 1,000 chapters. The collective fosters relationships with grocers and food distributors to collect and disperse food to political activists, houseless individuals, and fundraisers. The collective also raises awareness on the gross amount of waste (over 40%) American producers are responsible for.

183 direct action, providing an alternative screen for individuals to respond to the process of interpellation and subject formation. The mere presence of individuals chanting, shouting proclamations into bullhorns, and storm the gates without paying admission to disrupt a dolphin show illustrate that something else is possible. The spectacular moves the audience to question their decision to identify with speciesism, and to possibly reimagine a different relationship between human animals and other-than-human animals.

Protest as Spectacle

Graeber encourages activists to utilize the political and social imaginary in order to challenge the “neoliberal moment” (Gusterson, Besteman, and Ehrenreich 2009).

Neoliberalism refers to a new form of “neo laissez faire economics." As activist and author Jason Del Gandio succinctly states:

[Neoliberalism is] based on the deregulation of free markets and the privatization of wealth. It subordinates government control to the interests of private profit. The government—rather than regulating the market to assure a level playing field—becomes an extension of market activity, the servant of the industries to which it is captive. Neoliberalism provides tax breaks for the rich, reduces spending on social programs and welfare, expands corporate control and eradicates labor rights, environmental protections, drug and food regulations and even national law. The basic purpose is to allow private interests to own and control every aspect of the human, social and natural world. (Del Gandio 2010)

In reference to a key topic of this chapter, the animal industry privatizes and profits from the suffering and murder of nonhuman animals. Challenging this hegemonic cruelty must involve imagining a post-capitalist and post-speciesist reality. Such imagining is facilitated by disidentification, encouraging others to disidentify with the current conditions and practices of neoliberalism, the animal industry, and speciesism. The use of direct action, conceived in this analysis as a form of political theatre, is one way to facilitate an alternative political imaginary.

184 The home and public demonstrations conducted by anarchist antispeciesists often rely upon the use of spectacle to create disidentificatory thoughts. By spectacle, I am referring to the construction of reality through public theater as discussed in Chapter One:

Introduction, with both Debord’s explanation and critique of the spectacle (Debord

1967). The critiques put forth by Debord (and others) argue that authentic social life has been replaced by mediated representations, or as Burke calls them, terministic screens. I, too, remain weary of the proliferation of digital activism (sharing an article or sending a formal complaint through email) and how it impedes physical, confrontational direct action. All of the campaigns included in this study, however, engage in and advocate for confrontational direct action in the public sphere. One common tactic, home demonstrations (protests at the personal residences of employees and affiliated constituents of targeted animal/ecological exploiter) provide a salient example of a spectacular direct action that intends to produce disidentifactory thoughts. The performativity of such demonstrations creates a scene, similar to a theatrical play, in which the grim and hidden realities of vivisection are publicly staged for all to see.

Activists, through the political theatre, utilize voice as a central tool in which the demonstrators utilize exaggeration to create alternative screens as well as alternative presentations of themselves. The modes of subversion, political street theater and drag, rely on the activists’ use of voice in combination with physical bodily performance. The performance of exaggeration does not solely rely on what is said, but also how it is said and how their bodies are presented. Dressed in similar clothes as the observers, you would not necessarily pick the demonstrators out of the crowd (if it were not for the bullhorns and posters). Part of their performance is also wearing some sort of animal

185 liberation swag, whether it is clothing, a button, or a patch on their messenger bag.

Demonstrators are not usually wearing masks or bandanas across their faces; they are dressed casually as if they joined the demonstration ad hoc68. Before a demonstration begins, demonstrators select someone to be the “public relations representative and police liaison.” This job entails holding the demonstration permit, presenting it to the police when they arrive, and engaging people on the street. The public relations representative is not a predetermined role, but often given to someone willing to remain calm while discussing issues with those who may not agree with the demonstration. Their performance of exaggerated neoliberalism is not only embodied in chants and proclamations, it is further articulated through dress, communication styles, posture, and bodily presentation.

The home demonstrations I attended with DARTT and The Bunny Alliance expose HLS’s violence (which is often masked behind corporate walls) is brought to the forefront by the garishness of the publicly performed spectacle. During one of the home demonstrations, I was holding a large sign that had a picture of a maimed beagle and the words, “This is not my kind of “science.” After ten minutes of chanting, a neighbor came outside and began to scream at us. He explained that the person we are targeting has a young baby that is probably trying to sleep, and more importantly, the person we are targeting is a “good person” (Grubbs 2013a). One of the protestors stepped aside and

68. There are many forms of protest utilized by direct action anarchist antispeciesists. The method of veiling one’s identity and wearing black clothing is an anarchist tactic refered to as Black Bloc. At many of the home demonstrations, public protests, and gatherings I met activists dressed in black bloc. Several of the videos included in this study also feature activists dressed in black bloc. The strategy is not only in response to resisting the police state, but also as a way to challenge other social movements that use their physical appearances to as vehicle of privilege.

186 began to engage the neighbor in a conversation. The protestor lowered the tone of her voice; she slowly explained one of the experimentations that the target had facilitated.

The neighbor’s body language began to shift from anger toward the protestors to disgust at the description of injecting beagles with chemicals. His brow softened, his clenched mouth relaxed, and his crossed arms released and fell by his side. The protestor was able to suspend her “proclamation voice” and invoke her “public relations” voice to facilitate the neighbor’s disidentifactory thought process. The spectacle brought the experimentation out of the laboratory and to the neighborhood to confrontationally assert disidentification, but also relied on the malleability of voice to ease the abrupt interruption of interpellation.

The spectacle of the home demonstration is an attempt to amplify the problem

(animal exploitation) and the motivation (profit) by creating an alternative spectacle (one based on truth-telling and the adoption of an ethical relation to nonhuman animals).

Demonstrators do this by creating a public performance. The demonstrators use their bullhorns to amplify their message and turn a sidewalk or front lawn into a public theatre.

The power of the spectacle lies in its ability to demand attention and render abstract concepts into accessible courses of action. The method is both confrontational and invaluable. As Jean Baudrillard states, “This is our theatre of cruelty, the only one left to us—extraordinary because it unites the most spectacular to the most provocative” (The

Spirit, 2001, n.p.) The creation of a spectacle, however, relies on Goffman’s concept of the stage, the self, and Burke’s concept of terministic screens.

Though Goffman is applied more aptly to how individuals interpret and perform gender, public protest benefits from the framework of theatre. The concept of the self

187 cannot be understood without problematizing the concept of reality through performance.

Social actors, activists, create and rearticulate understandings of themselves through performances of self that participate in the contentious process of co-creating reality through symbolic actions (Burke 1969; Goffman 1959). Further, activists rely on performance to present themselves to an audience, a public that interprets their own reality through the performance. Sociologist and performance theorist, Erving Goffman, argued that theater serves as a metaphor for how people present themselves to one another based on cultural values, norms, and expectations (Goffman 1959). Digital media provides an omnipresent stage in which activists are always already performing crafted versions of themselves. In this sense, direct action allows for not only the activist to create a spectacle for the onlooker, but to also perform an idealized vision of which they imagine themselves. For activists that are oftentimes (intentionally) ostracized for their physical appearance (circle-A tattoos, septum and facial piercing, a-symmetric and dyed haircuts, DIY tattered clothing, and body odor) demonstrations provide a suspended space to playfully and temporarily reinvent them. In the creation of self as activist, individuals rely on the stage of social media. One must decide what their character will be, which screens they want to engage, and how they will present themselves through physical representations, intellectual and political articulations, kinship networks, and so on. These performances create terministic screens in order to create forms of disidentification.

The activists, through the dialectic of confrontational rhetoric and playfulness, subvert the dominant screens of society, the screens in which most Americans understand social order, by performing a screen in which those do not exist. It is a form of

188 disidentification that is predicated on a political imaginary. When activists release 2,000 mink from a fur farm outside of Chicago, it creates a screen in which those who break the law can get away with it. During many of the demonstrations I attended, I experienced confrontational onlookers that were convinced protestors were breaking the law. The assumed screen was one of complacency, that individuals engaging in public assembly were violating social and legal norms. In attempt to create a different screen, activists happily reminded the angry onlookers they do not have to bother calling the police because activists themselves had received a permit.69 Referring back to Althusser and the concept of the ISA/SA social structure, individuals are socialized through institutions to not simply fear the Establishment, but to also revere it. In this sense, activists create an alternative screen where the Establishment is challenged publicly and is forced to show its veiled violent hand.

The demonstrators with DARTT began their performance by ringing the doorbell or buzzing an apartment complex intercom70. “Hi, Joe/Jane [Doe]. We spoke several days ago, but you refused to meet with me in person. I wanted to meet with you and talk about your client, Huntingdon Life Sciences.” Once the activists confirmed that the

“target” is home, the performance took off and began with a series of chants. “One, two three, four. Open up the cage door! Five, six, seven, eight. Smash the locks and liberate!

69. There is a lot of debate within the movement regarding protest permits. Many activists believe the process of obtaining a permit minimizes the impact and also reduces the ways in which they are confronting the establishment. During the Occupy encampments, many regional Occupy chapters refused to even file permits on the basis of pandering to the system.

70. Although this ethnographic description of events is focused on home demonstrations with DARTT, the larger ethnographic data illustrated commonalities and overlap in the scripts used by anarchist antispeciesists during home demonstrations. In this way, the example here illustrates a commonly used performance to create a specific spectacle.

189 Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Joe/Jane can go to hell!” These chants solidified the activists’ solidarity and reminded onlookers that the demonstration was all about targeting

Joe/Jane. In between chants, a few of the organizers gave speeches and proclamations that addressed the target loudly enough for all to hear. One of the organizers took the bullhorn and shouted, “We tried to meet with you, Joe/Jane. We are sure you would not want to be affiliated with the grotesque cruelty that Huntingdon Life Sciences is conducting on your behalf.” The demonstrators then recounted the horrific vivisection, the thousands of animals ordered from the breeding facility, and the discredited research that results that Astra-Zeneca had engaged in with animals supplied by HLS. The activists, with the aim of maintaining a consistent screen, appeared rational and eager to resolve the issue. The demonstrations intended to make it all look simple: cease relations with HLS and the campaign against you will cease (Grubbs 2013a).

This spectacle invited the audience (onlookers and passersby) to witness the exchange as it exposed HLS, challenged the violent archetypal portrayals of animal advocates, and mocked many of the taken for granted truisms of global capitalism (for example, that our lives should be based on profit and/or that “the market” equals freedom). The proclamations ensure that the audience clearly understood how many animals were (are) being exploited through HLS-contracted vivisection. The demonstrators did not break from their theatrical characters during the performance; they playfully engaged their audience and politely but markedly turned off their bullhorns when a leashed animal was walked past (Grubbs 2013a). All of this accentuated the heightened sense of spectacle that was being enacted. The activists remained committed

190 in character to ensure the audience clearly understood the problem through the terministic screen created.

The demonstrators consistently used the first name of the person targeted while repeatedly asking the target to come outside and discuss the situation. Those in the

“audience” might have thought (as I once did) that the demonstrators were shortsighted by their faith in such an invitation to talk and discuss the corporate relationship between

Astra-Zeneca and HLS. A passerby challenged the demonstrators and asked me, “Don’t you guys realize this person can’t do anything about it? S/he works for some larger company that doesn’t care what one person has to say. S/he has the job to pay his bills, and if s/he stands up to company practice then s/he will just be fired” (Grubbs 2013a).

But the demonstrators were not so naïve; they knew full well that the target is unlikely to come outside and even less likely to change his/her company’s practice of animal exploitation. Instead, this kind of demonstration, as queer a performance and powerful disclosure of normativity, rather than a literal political plea, exaggerated the agency of the target and, therefore, highlights powerlessness common to the average person living within capitalism (Leap and Motschenbacher 2012:6–9). As an additional queering effect, this demonstration highlighted the passerby’s implicit understanding of this powerlessness. The onlookers were already aware that corporate sovereignty, as discussed in Chapter Four: Neoliberal Capitalism and Constructing the Ecoterrorist, produces good subjects that, for the most part, are powerless to effect change (Pêcheux

1982:158; Grubbs 2014a:246–248). The spectacle, through this alternative screen, called attention to what the onlookers (and the target) already knew, but also forcing them to

191 confront the issues and problems of the current system and thereby become more empowered to actually enact social change.

The neighbor that came out to defend the vivisector described above became part of the performance through his confrontation with disidentifcatory thoughts as he listened to the graphic details of vivisection. The protestors utilize the paradigm of good versus bad protestor in their performance insofar as they can shift their voice to accommodate the onlookers. Ultimately, however, the flexibility in their performance queers the dichotomous thinking that protestors must be either good or bad. These campaigns encouraged activists to publicly disrupt exploitative structures through creative means.

The use of performance, direct action, and spectacle queers the act of protest that is aimed at primary, secondary and tertiary targets. Activists creatively engaged in playful direct action while aggressively attacking corporations. The successes of these campaigns, and specifically the implementation of the SHAC model, demonstrate the power in playful protest, and the importance of direct action in anarchist antispeciesist movements to disidentify with neoliberal capitalism, speciesism, and State repression.

Alternative screens: Challenging notions of science

This particular mode of activism, direct action that targets the exclusively capitalist aims of agri-vivisection, provides an effective critique of speciesism. The campaigns against agri-vivisection industries point to how capitalism facilitates the systematic domination and exploitation of other-than-human animals. The rhetoric of pharmacaptialism has interpellated the public, or the good subjects; to believe that vivisection industries can “cure” ailments and illnesses if only individuals raise or donate more money and more thus industries can conduct more animal-based research. People

192 who have lost someone to illness know the powerlessness that comes with waiting for

“science” to have a medical breakthrough. Whether someone wants to sparkle in their hot pink attire and walk a few miles for breast cancer or fundraise by washing cars outside of the grocery store, it is apparent that people are affected by disease and death.

But the notion that human life warrants animal death is predicated on the constructed hierarchy that divides and privileges human over animal, refered to throughout this analysis as speciesism. Confrontational direct action, however, places footage and photographs in the public eye that capture the conditions in which these animals live, the violent handling and grotesque maiming at the hands of vivisectors. During the demonstrations with The Bunny Alliance, the public was confronted with the realities veiled behind the corporate walls of agri-vivisection industries through signs, proclamations, and chants (Grubbs 2014c). The utilitarian rationales were confronted with what that actually means to excuse the violent vivisection of some to possibly aid others. The speciesist hypocrisy embedded in the vivisection logic, that through animal death we save human lives, is exposed through the violent laboratory reality. The laboratories may be veiled through security walls and barriers granted by corporate sovereignty, but the onlookers at the CVG Airport could not exit the airport without being confronted with bloody images and damning proclamations held by The Bunny

Alliance activists. The ability to expose existing acts of violence at the hands of agri- vivisection industries is perhaps one of the more powerful spectacular components of confrontational direct action. The use of surveillance to capture these manifestations of violence and publicize them through physical and digital spaces has been met with State

193 acts of repression, as described in Chapter Four: Neoliberal Capitalism and Constructing the Ecoterrorist (Potter 2012; Potter 2014; CLDC (Civil Liberties Defense Center) 2012).

The dichotomizing and privileging of the human-over-animal boundary is challenged through anarchist antispeciesist direct action and it creates forms of disidentification with ISA’s naturalize speciesism. These actions create alterative screens through a political performativity that attempt to subvert species boundaries and neoliberal capitalist motives that ultimately alienate beings from one another. Within the artificial confines of the laboratory, the beagles and rabbits stuffed into wire cages and forced to endure exploitation are far removed from “scientific rigor.” The emphasis throughout these campaigns is to consistently expose the systematic oppression of other- than-human animals at the hands of human animals. From the bunnies that live in school classrooms, to the frog dissected in 7th grade biology, and the pig fetus used in undergraduate human reproduction courses, these manifestations of violence, according to anarchist antispeciesists, all a part of a larger discourse on species relations. The

AELM publicizes the violent treatment of other-than-human animals and ecologies within agri-vivisection industries, and creates a queer counter public to understand a type of human/animal relation not reflected in speciesism or neoliberal capitalism.

Conclusion

Neoliberalism, according to Graeber, has become part of the fictional narrative of

U.S. capitalism and globalization. Marx would call is the opiate of the masses, comparable to religion. Alas, it is during the performance of direct action, the spectacle, that demonstrators expose the alienation, the powerlessness, the veiled accountability, and overt frustrations felt by those subject to neoliberal capitalism through

194 disidentification. The performances purposefully exaggerate the rhetoric of neoliberalism: rationality, individual agency, free enterprise, market driven capitalism, and individual responsibility. In turn, those observing, participating, and targeted are left counting the ways these portrayals are ludicrous. Thus, the spectacle successfully creates disidentifactory thoughts that are critical of globalization and capitalism, undermining all of the euphemisms embedded in the hegemonic corporatization within the neoliberal moment.

This chapter integrated the ways in which anarchist antispeciesists refuse to submit to the dichotomy of good versus bad protestor through the use of direct action to create spectacular resistance as a form of disidentification. The ethnographic data woven throughout (and concentrated in Chapter Three: Ethnography) contextualize the nuanced use of voice as confrontation, voice as neoliberal performance, and voice as playfulness.

Through textual analysis and ethnographic observation, it became clear these are not merely street theatre of public shaming, but rather they directly challenge the restructuring of global capitalism within the contemporary neoliberal moment. These demonstrations utilize the strategic rhetoric of exaggeration and satire as a mode of resistance. Anarchist antispeciesists are not unique in their use of political theater to exaggerate systems of oppression, as evidenced in the history of drag performance in the gay liberation and queer liberation movements. The next chapter moves beyond the rhetoric of protest, and interrogates the ways in which the State retaliates by interpellating the AELM’s use of direct action as disidentification into ecoterrorism. The use of political theater may not be exclusive to the AELM, but the dialectic between direct action and political repression as modes of discipline are unique within the construct of

195 the ecoterrorist. Graeber posits that the political imaginary is constrained to only think within the current modes of existence presented: capitalism, neoliberalism, globalization, and authoritarianism. Because anarchist antispeciesists rely on an anarchist political imaginary beyond the existence of current modes of social relations, the concept of play serves as an essential tool to analyze their rhetorical significance.

196 CHAPTER SIX

DIALECTICAL DISCIPLINE

AND PERFORMATIVE POWER

“Political language… is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind.” [Orwell 1946]

The potentiality to create disidentifactory thoughts through performance has increased through the queered boundaries of public and private spheres through physical and digital direct action. The State, however, recognizes this threat and retaliates by interpellating disidentification (direct action) into ecoterrorism. The following chapter interrogates the relational dialectic between anarchist antispeciesists confrontational direct action, described in Chapter Five: Direct Action as Spectacle, and the State through the interplay of activist resistance and repressive acts of the State. Specifically, this chapter examines how the repressive construct of ecoterrorism, as discussed in Chapter Four: Neoliberal

Capitalism and Constructing the Ecoterrorist, is used by the State to discipline anarchist antispeciesists’ use of direct action (as a spectacular performance) through interpellation.

The AELM is responsible for the direct rescue of thousands of animals from captivity, slaughter, and vivisection (Phelps 2007:260). The AELM has inflicted millions of dollars in damages each year to industries that exploit animals and the environment (Best and

Nocella 2006:47; Loadenthal 2013a; Loadenthal 2010). Direct animal rescue and property destruction effectively threaten agri-vivisection industries through the public use

19 7 of pressure tactics described in earlier chapters.71 The use of direct action remains an internal splinter within the animal and eco advocacy movements, and invites public scrutiny from those outside the movements. More importantly, however, the acts of agitation are interconnected to the acts of the State. The physical and rhetorical volley of performative power between the AELM and the State-Corporate Industrial Complex between political activism and repression exists within a relational dialectic.

Anarchist antispeciesists simultaneously feel powerful through direct action and repressed through State violence. Activists’ act and exercise power yet also experience coercive punishment that minimize their power from the State. These contradictions cannot be parceled out and fractured from one another because they exist within the totality of a holistic relationship of power and repression. Activists are not able to experience or articulate the power embodied in direct action, regardless of how symbolically or viscerally the power if experienced. No demonstration, direct rescue, or act of arson exists outside of a system in which the State holds coercive power. Thus, the direct action is an attempt to subvert or overthrow the power of the State through performance, with an understanding that the action alone holds no symbolic value outside of the existing power structure. The praxis of relational dialectics provide the influx terrain in which activists and State actors gain deeper understandings of the needs and desires of one another. The dialectics are continuously influx and depend on the changing nature of the relationship. In this sense, the theory of relational dialectic provides a useful

71. The direct action tactics used by the contemporary AELM have been credited to the SHAC Model described in the previous chapter. The tactics include public protests, political theatre such as die- ins, mass funerals, hot iron branding, home demonstrations, cyber attacks and cyber security breaches, document leaks, investigative footage, direct rescue, property destruction, and blockades.

198 way to understand the performative interplay, tensions, and contradictions between the

State and the AELM.

Each direct action by anarchist antispeciesists challenges the State and the systems of capitalism, speciesism, and authoritarianism. Each challenge is met with actions of the State that both react to and proactively prevent threats to their power. Both the activists and the State engage with power through performance to silence and subvert the other. Despite the significant challenges these non-State actors make, there is an asymmetry of power that monopolizes [legal] modes of violence (Baudrillard 2001;

Weber 1919; Weber 1978; Loadenthal 2013b). The previous chapter focused on the ways in which activists engage with the repressive acts of the State and neoliberal capitalism through spectacular performances of direct action. This chapter further relies on activist narratives told through their personal voice, digital media, and captured in ethnographic notes to examine the ways in which individuals interpret and perform the relational dialectic between activists and the State. Specifically, this chapter examines how activists interact with the State’s rhetorical construction of ecoterrorism as part of the larger project of statecraft through political repression. This chapter relied on participant- observation, interviewing, and analyzing activists’ use of social media to gain in-depth understanding of how activists view their response to State’s surveillance and the role of security culture. Respondents remarked how they viewed direct action as an effective way to challenge the State’s reliance on disciplinary punishment, and many of the activist convergences I attended featured tactical trainings to resist security culture (Grubbs

2013b; Grubbs 2014c; Grubbs 2014b; Anonymous 2014a). This examination is guided by a series of interconnected questions including: How is power articulated and performed in

199 the contemporary neoliberal movement by both the State and anarchist antispeciesists? In what ways does the State dialectically engage in monarchical power and disciplinary punishment to interpellate direct action as ecoterrorism72?

State Violence Masked through Performance

Corporate sovereignty, as facilitated by neoliberal capitalism, not only allows for agri-vivisection industries to operate through veiled ISA’s, but it also requires the State to use repressive acts to disincentivize dissent. Through the conflation of the good subject and the good protestor, activists are presented with one, nonthreatening form of dissent as effective (Best n.d.; Churchill and Wall 1990; Pellow 2014). The rewriting of past liberatory struggles to erase confrontational direct action as not only effective, but engaged in ad hoc by activists heralded as good protestors. The disciplinary function of corporate sovereignty is illustrated through the frameworks provided by Althusser,

Foucault and Agamben. Foucault and Althusser focused a great deal on the social functioning of power, and it’s relationship to discipline. In Discipline and Punish,

Foucault traced the role of governments in shifting modes of punishment. With the birth of the modern prison, Foucault argued a move from monarchical punishment to disciplinary power.

Monarchical punishment, the repression of a group through violent public performance, was no longer necessary after the birth of the modern day prison. Athusser expanded on this, but focused on the process of subject formation through interpellation.

72. Although Foucault argued the increased use of surveillance facilitated a veiled use of state violence through disciplinary punishment, the targeted legislation, terrorist enhancements, and excessive police force follows a monarchical construct of State power (Foucault 1977; Foucault 1980; Foucault 1991).

200 Subjects can be disciplined because they are “hailed,” and thus have the agency to accept, reject, or reconfigure through discursive practices of ideology (Althusser 1971:132, 143–

144; Pêcheux 1982:158). Monarchical power, on the other hand, relies on public displays of grotesque violence to maintain rule through explicit fear of violence. In effort to discourage theft through fear, the government would gather entire communities to witness a thief’s hand get cut off. The punishment was based on mutilating the body so that fear of physical pain would instill self-discipline into the soul. In his discussion of the prison system,

Foucault expands on the panopticon model put forth by Jeremy Bentham

(Foucault 1977:200–217). Prisons were built in a circular shape, with a tall tower in the center. Every prison cell was exposed to the tower, centralizing all surveillance to one specific tower. Tinted windows and obscured architecture designed the watchtower to have clear views of the entire prison, while making it impossible for prisoners to see in.

Prisoners assumed there were always a guard in the tower, and became accustomed to constant surveillance. Over time, they began to self-discipline and it no longer mattered if someone was actually in the tower. Contemporary shopping malls utilize this conditioning through the installation of surveillance cameras. There are even signs in dressing rooms that read, “Smile, you are on camera” or “You steal, we prosecute.”

Consumers are constantly shown representations of surveillance without necessarily being presented with evidence that anyone is watching the footage. However, the shopping experience is conditioned through the lens of assumption. Individuals do not know who is watching, what the store’s legal capacities of prosecution are, or even the scope of the camera itself. And yet the shopper behaves as if they are being watched, as if

201 they have assumed the store to hold significant enough power that they will not steal. The cameras, though omnipresent, appear less violent than armed security guards in every store.

With regard to the AELM, there is dialectic between the use of the surveillance and explicit State violence that is visible to create a repressive terrain for political activism (Grubbs and Loadenthal 2011a; Loadenthal 2011b; Grubbs and Loadenthal

2011b; Loadenthal 2014b) . The surveillance of activists represents a systematic disciplining of dissent. The targeted legislation such as the AETA, use of Federal Grand

Juries, use of Communications Management Unit prisons, and terrorist-enhancements represent an explicit coercive punishment more in line with monarchical power. The rhetoric of terrorism itself serves a disciplinary function to discourage dissent (Chomsky

2001:155, Hoffman 2006:32, Lovitz 2010:109, Jackson and Sinclair 2012:2). The combinations of disciplinary conditions that activists engage in include self-censorship of communication, clandestine operations rather than in networks, and a proliferation of

“security culture” demonstrate an internalization of the panopticon. However, coercive legislation such as the AETA and State authority that protects neoliberal capitalism unveils the violent nature of political repression [4]. Direct action activists are publicly punished through Federal Grand Jury subpoenas, home raids, government infiltrators, and terrorism enhancements. This hybrid of both disciplinary punishment and monarchical power represents a particular type of political repression targeting anarchist antispeciesists.

202 Disciplining the Activist

The disciplinary power of the State fits within the neoliberal rhetoric of a forgiving judicial system indoctrinates the prisoners to believe regardless if anyone is watching, it will benefit them if they are on their best behavior73. Foucault argued there was both symbolic and physical significance within the body/soul divide during this shift from monarchical punishment to disciplinary power (Foucault 1977:280–281). The professionalization of power via prisons, parole officers, and house arrest, have conditioned the soul to behave in ways that allow the State to police through conditioning rather than public displays of grotesque violence74. This shift, however, had more to do with cost and efficiency rather than the State’s desire to be less violence (Foucault

1980:38–40). The body/soul internalization of power facilitated a shift in the public performance of State violence as penal system capable of restorative justice. Before I began this project, I was traveling to the West Coast for a conference. I had packed a few zines and the ALF Primer in my messenger bag. I went through the standard modes of surveillance screening at the airport and then was selected for additional inspection. The

Transportation Security Administration (TSA) officer carried by scattered belongings over to a metal table. She instructed me to stand on the plastic mat and turn my palms facing upward. As she snapped on blue sterile gloves, she explained that she would be patting down my body. I answered a series of questions clarifying: I did not have

73. The judicial system, in particular the Prison-Industrial Complex, promulgates the false idea that a convicted individual is able to serve a prison sentence or complete a mandated punishment in order to be forgiven for their crime and thus granted access to rejoin society as a reformed citizen.

74. It is of importance to note this section focuses on North America and the U.K. It is outside the scope and aim of this study to include an overview of the intricacies of policing internationally.

203 “tender” places on the body, I did not need to be moved to a private area for the screening, and I do not need the instructions translated from English. She also explained that my messenger bag was going to be opened and the belongings would be examined.

Though I had prepared to travel, knew my bags and body were subject to search, and was aware my name had been run through security databases, it was during this “further inspection” that I viscerally felt the State’s power. My heart rate began to increase as the sweat beads began to form at my hairline. As the second TSA officer approached my messenger bag, I felt my hands begin to shake. Despite years of political activism and academic research on the civil liberties guaranteeing my right to protest, I began to fear what would happen if the TSA officer found the ALF literature.

The internalization of these threats of physical violence (being selected for further inspection, having my body and possessions searched, the risk of being handcuffed and escorted into police custody, being added to security watch lists and labeled as a terrorist, and having my property confiscated) were externalized through the increased heart rate, the sweat, and the shakiness felt in my hands. To paraphrase from Foucault’s concept of disciplinary power, activists’ souls have been conditioned to use discretion when traveling and conceal political markers because of the physical fear in the veiled threat of the State75. Activists monitor conversations with one under because of the internalized fear of being caught discussing legal and illegal confrontational direct action. The State is able to wield its power without publicly exposing the ways in which it uses violence to

75. There are many activists that make it an intentional practice to travel in clothing that clearly marks their politics and solidarity with political prisoners, to pack political propaganda, and to adopt an aggressive posture with TSA security.

204 repress dissent76. Foucault provides a detailed explanation for how the State was able to move away from monarchical punishment that relied on visible acts of violence and instead rely on insidious, omnipresent mechanisms of surveillance. The State, essentially, engaged in a significant public relations campaign to restructure the penal system to embody neoliberal truisms of justice, rehabilitation, fairness, and democracy.

Disciplining the State

The dialectical praxis between activists and the State within the contemporary moment continues to evolve through technological advances. The technopower (the internet, smart phones, d/encryption, surveillance devices, etc) available in tandem with direct action tactics, provide significantly destructive mechanisms to subvert Statecraft

(Chomsky 2005; Žižek 2008). The available means and modes of activists expose the tenuousness and vulnerability of State power in both the physical disruptions of agri- vivisection industries, but further the tactics undermine the hegemonic foundation of disciplinary power itself. The anarchist rejection of governmentality and coercion, coupled with the antispeciesist rejection of capitalism and speciesism, utilize direct action to create a spectacle that expose the fragility of State power without consent and produce disidentifactory thoughts. When activists walk into the headquarters of a multinational corporation in Cincinnati, Ohio, dressed in black clothing, glue the locks to an office shut, drop two 60 ft banners, and hang from a zip line strung between two buildings to protest the company’s sourcing of palm oil, the audience is confronted with the contradictions of State power. Employees, onlookers, activists, and the targets themselves

76. This is one of the central points that activists have argued create divisive and debilitating fractures amongst clandestine cells in the AELM. Ethnographic data will expand upon the ways in which this is interpreted and challenged by activists.

205 are witnesses to the performance of disidentification that interrupts hegemonic power.

The employees of the company must reconcile feeling unsafe despite the heavily policed fortress, onlookers must reconcile distrusting the effectiveness of security, and the

Cincinnati residents must reconcile why activists would challenge the highly-regarded local pride77. The activists credited their ability to penetrate security during the day to technology, a destabilizing mode of protest that disrupts the State’s monopoly of surveillance. When Potter announced the Kickstarter campaign to purchase two drones in order to capture aerial footage of factory farms, the State’s monopoly of violence was disrupted78. When SHAC activists hack into the email accounts of HLS executives and leak internal documents, power is disrupted. When activists release 500 mice from a laboratory and widely distribute a communiqué, power is disrupted. The power of the

State, or the State’s power of interpellation, is further disrupted when the activists remain at-large after the attack. The communiqué explicitly calls out the State and declares monarchical power over by stating the attacks will continue until the industries cease to exist. Following an act of sabotage, a chemical abrasive was put in the fuel system of a mobile slaughter truck operated by Warts Custom Meat Cutting in Washington, a communiqué was sent to the North American Animal Liberation Front Press Office:

77. In 2014, Greenpeace activists entered Proctor & Gamble (P&G) headquarters in Cincinnati, Ohio to engage in direct action challenging the controversial sourcing of palm oil. Greenpeace had contacted P&G throughout the campaign, but the company refused to engage in the conversation. The protest garnered national attention and led to the announcement from P&G that the company would change its practices over the course of several years. The activists faced a collective sentence of 9.5 years, and ultimately the felony chargers were dropped.

78. Activists cannot take footage inside factory farms in 6 states, however the State can record phone conversations and archive emails of activists without oversight (Weber 1978; Potter 2012; Potter 2014).

206 There is nothing humane about turning a living-breathing animal into a lifeless commodity in order to satisfy frivolous human desires. The so called ‘humane meat movement’ is not about respecting the ‘welfare’ of non-human animals, but about masking and normalizing a culture of violence and exploitation directed towards sentient non-humans. This is an act of solidarity with the pigs and cows that are slated to be killed by this company and with all the victims of animal agriculture. Until the last slaughterhouse truck is idled and the last butchers blade is snapped. A.L.F. Freedom Summer 2014 has officially commenced. [Washington State Mobile Slaughter Truck Sabotaged by ALF » North American Animal Liberation Press Office n.d.]

The activists are able to issue clear threats to the State while simultaneously demonstrating the power of their threat through illegal direct action. The activists that are caught, entrapped through infiltrators, or implicated by cooperative witnesses have the ability to issue monarchical challenges to State power through the legal proceeding.

Political prisoner, Walter Bond, is incarcerated for several arsons in Colorado and Utah, and utilized his trial and sentencing hearing to publicly denounce the State and speciesism79. Bond was first tried and convicted in Colorado for burning down the

Sheepskin Factory in Glendale, Colorado. Bond received the minimum sentence allowed by a Colorado court, 5 years prison and 3 years probation80 (Bond 2011a). The judge made several references during the trial to Bond’s intelligence, acknowledged that she read all 50 letters of support sent from activists, and also encouraged Bond to focus on

79. Walter Bond began using the name Abdum Haqq after taking Shahada (the declaration of full faith in Islam) in August of 2014, while imprisoned at a Communications Management Unit in the U.S. Penitentiary at Marion, Illinois. The name, Abdul Haqq, translates to “Servants of The Truth” and is used throughout Bond’s essays after that date. I will refer to him as Walter Bond in essays written prior to August 5, 2014, and Abdul Haqq in all subsequent writings in which he signs that name.

80. Bond’s brother, Trapper Zuehlke, was contacted by the FBI and worked with the government in a sting operation. Bond was arrested for 3 arsons in 2010: a sheepskin factory in Denver, Colorado, a leather factory in Salt Lake City, Utah, and a foie gras restauraunt, Tiburon, in Sandy, Utah. He pled guilty to all three charges and was also charged with one count of AETA. His total prison sentence is 12 years and 3 months, with a scheduled release in 2021 (Walter Bond Prison Support Network n.d.).

207 writing rather than illegal acts. Bond responded to the patronizing proceedings with the following speech:

I’m here today because I burnt down the Sheepskin Factory in Glendale, CO, a business that sells pelts, furs and other dead Animal skins. I know many people think I should feel remorse for what I’ve done. I guess this is the customary time where I’m suppose to grovel and beg for mercy. I assure you if that’s how I felt I would. But, I am not sorry for anything I have done. Nor am I frightened by this court’s authority. Because any system of law that values the rights of the oppressor over the down trodden is an unjust system. And though this court has real and actual power, I question its morality. I doubt the court is interested in the precautions that I took to not harm any person or by-stander and even less concerned with the miserable lives that sheep, cows and mink had to endure, unto death, so that a Colorado business could profit from their confinement, enslavement, and murder. Obviously, the owners and employees of the sheepskin factory do not care either or they would not be involved in such a sinister and macabre blood trade. So I will not waste my breath where it will only fall on deaf ears. That’s why I turned to illegal direct action to begin with, because you do not care. No matter how much we Animal Rights activists talk or reason with you, you do not care. Well, Mr. Livaditis (owner of the Sheepskin Factory), I don’t care about you. There is no common ground between people like you and me. I want you to know that no matter what this court sentences me to today, you have won nothing! Prison is no great hardship to me. In a society that values money over life, I consider it an honor to be a prisoner of war, the war against inter-species slavery and objectification! I also want you to know that I will never willingly pay you one dollar, not one! I hope your business fails and you choke to death on every penny you profit from Animal murder! I hope you choke on it and burn in hell! To my supporters, I wish to say thank you for standing behind me and showing this court and these Animal exploiters that we support our own and that we as a movement are not going to apologize for having a sense of urgency. We are not going to put the interests of commerce over sentience! And we will never stop educating, agitating and confronting those responsible for the death of our Mother Earth and her Animal Nations. My Vegan sisters and brothers our lives are not our own. Selfishness is the way of gluttons, perverts and purveyors of injustice. It has been said all it takes for evil to conquer is for good people to do nothing. Conversely, all it takes to stop the enslavement, use, abuse and murder of other than human Animals is the resolve to fight on their behalf! Do what you can, do what you must, be Vegan warriors and true Animal defenders and never compromise with their murderers and profiteers. The Animal Liberation Front is the answer. Seldom has there been such a personally powerful and internationally effective movement in human history. You cannot join the A.L.F. but you can become the A.L.F. And it was the proudest and most powerful thing I have ever done. When you leave this courtroom today don’t be dismayed by my incarceration.

208 All the ferocity and love in my heart still lives on. Every time someone liberates an Animal and smashes their cage, it lives on! Every time an activist refuses to bow down to laws that protect murder, it lives on! And it lives on every time the night sky lights up ablaze with the ruins of another Animal exploiters’ business! That’s all Your Honor, I am ready to go to prison. [Bond 2011]

Bond’s ability to exercise power against the State was performed through his direct actions and the speeches in which he rhetorically refused to identify with the disciplinary function of the State. In the opening paragraph, “I guess this is the customary time where

I’m suppose to grovel and beg for mercy…but I am not sorry…nor am I frightened…And although this court has real and actual power, I question its morality,” Bond challenges the ways in which neoliberal capitalism unethically values capital over the lives of other species (Bond 2011a). Throughout the speech, Bond frames the current legal-political landscape as a capital-driven system that supports violent exploitation, whereas his own actions fall within a trajectory of liberation activists that act ethically to destroy an unethical society. His narrative demonstrates the following syllogism: society has immoral practices toward other species, laws supporting these practices are tied to profit for the State, therefore it is justified to defy society and the laws by disrupting these practices and profits because they are immoral. Thus, if you agree that society has immoral practices toward other species, and you agree that these practices are facilitated by and profited off of by the State, then the State supports immoral practices. The syllogism challenges the neoliberal logic that the State acts with the public’s best interest, and draws attention to the ways in which the State creates and enforces laws based on profit rather than ethic. The logic, then, contributes to disidentifactory thoughts as the audience questions their own support for these immoral practices and the complicity of the State.

209 Bond symbolically shifts the traditionally repentant practice where the convicted demonstrate remorse during the sentencing hearing. Bond, however, uses the words: oppressor, unjust system, sinister and macabre blood trade, gluttons, perverts and purveyors of injustice” to describe the State and agri-vivisection industries that are facilitated by the State. Conversely, Bond addresses his supporters, the vegan warriors and true Animal defenders, and encourages them to continue to act with urgency and with disregard for the law. He does so by valorizing his acts within a context of war. He states,

“Prison is no great hardship to me…. it is an honor to be a prisoner of war, the war against inter-species slavery and objectification!” He concludes the speech with a final rallying call for the ALF, “…you can become the A.L.F. And it was the proudest and most powerful thing I have ever done…don’t be dismayed by my incarceration. All the ferocity and love in my heart still lives on…every time an activist refuses to bow down to law that protect murder…it lives on every time the night sky lights ablaze with the ruins of another Animal exploiters’ business.” The final sentence, in many ways, is the guillotine that splices at the disciplinary power of the State. Rather than request mercy or special consideration, Bond excitedly declares in martyrdom, “That’s all Your Honor, I am ready to go to prison.” The declaration undermines the disciplinary function of the

State, explicitly asking for the punishment that will elevate his status to Prisoner of War within the anarchist antispeciesist movement.

Bond was sentenced to 60 months (five years) in federal prison for the arson in

Colorado. The US. Attorney’s Office issued a statement on February 11, 2011 wherein the State responded to Bond’s speech to interpellate his rhetoric into ecoterrorism. The statement focused on Bond’s criminal history with arson to depoliticize the act in

210 claiming, “His claimed ‘cause’ is mere pretext: The evidence in this case demonstrates that he has a history of committing crimes involving fire before he ever began advocating animal rights” (U.S. Attorney’s Office 2011). Rather than respond to the ways in which

Bond challenged the disciplinary power of the State, the U.S. Attorney’s office asserted that the sentencing, “…sends a strong message that violence is never an acceptable road to change in our democracy…arson is a violent crime that often results in catastrophic loss of life and property” (U.S. Attorney’s Office 2011). The statement concluded by invoking the rhetoric of terrorism, “Preventing and pursuing domestic terrorism- those acts of violence committed in furtherance of a political or social agenda- remains one of the top priorities of the FBI…this sentencing demonstrates again that the FBI and Joint

Terrorism Task Force partners remain dedicated…to work together to bring justice to those who would resort to acts of violence” (U.S. Attorney’s Office 2011). The narrative of the State does not acknowledge the critique of speciesism or capitalism found throughout Bond’s speech, however it does use neoliberal rhetoric to interpellate Bond through performative power. The use of terms like gratified, dedicated, determined, justice, and victim to describe the interagency collaboration between the ATF, FBI, and local police and the Sheepskin Factory in Glendale. Bond is described with phrases like using violence, history of committing crimes; destroy a business to demonstrate a justified use of disciplinary punishment.

Bond was then extradited to Salt Lake City, Utah, where he was tried and convicted of two additional arsons claimed with the Animal Liberation Front. In October

2011, Bond delivered a similar speech to the court that followed a similar disregard for the State and lack of remorse. In the months between the two trials, Bond gave interviews

211 and delivered a keynote speech to an animal liberation conference I attended in Long

Beach, California. Bond utilized this social capital and delivered another scathing speech to the court before his sentencing. His speeches serve to solidify and mobilize anarchist antispeciesists to engage in illegal direct action without fear of the State. The second speech delivered in court in Utah focus on undermining the ways in which the State expects defendants to succumb to the power of the state through apology. Instead, he utilizes this classic rhetorical use of apologia to mock the State:

I’m here today because of the arsons I committed at The Tandy Leather Factory in Salt Lake City, and the Tiburon Restaurant in Sandy, Utah which sells the incredibly cruel product foie gras. The US Attorney wants to give me the maximum sentence and beyond, not because of my ‘crimes,’ but because I am unrepentant and outspoken. My intuition tells me that this court is not going to show me mercy because I became ‘suddenly sorry.’ So instead of lying to the court in a feeble attempt to save myself, as I’m certain many do when they face their sentencing day, allow me to tell you what I am sorry for. I am sorry that when I was 19 years old I built two slaughterhouses that are still killing Animals, even now as I speak. I am sorry that Tandy Leather sells skin that has been ripped from the dead, and often live bodies of such Animals as cows, ostriches, rabbits, snakes and pigs. I am sorry that the leather tanneries that supply Tandy Factory, poison the earth with dangerous chemicals. I am sorry that the restaurant Tiburon profits from the force feeding of geese and ducks until their livers explode, so that rich people can then use that as a paté for crackers and bread. I am sorry that they make a living from the dead bodies of wild and exotic Animals. I am sorry that we live in a day and age where you can rape a child or beat a woman unconscious and receive less prison time than an Animal Rights activist that attacked property instead of people. I am sorry that my brother was so desperate to get out of debt that he flew from Iowa to Colorado just to get me in a taped and monitored conversation for reward money. I am sorry that I am biologically related to such a worthless little snitch! I am sorry that I waited so long to become an Animal Liberation Front operative. For all of these things, I will always have some regret. But as far as the arsons at the Leather Factory and Tiburon go, I have no remorse. I realize that the laws of the land favor a business’ ability to make a profit over an Animal’s right to life. It also used to favor a white business owner’s ability to profit from a black person’s slavery. It also used to favor a husband’s ability to viciously attack his wife and act on her as if she were an object. Those who broke the law and damaged property to stand against these oppressions were also called ‘terrorists’ and ‘fanatics’ in their time. But that did not change the fact that society progressed and is still progressing along those lines. So today I’m the

212 bad guy. That is just a matter of historical coincidence. Who knows… perhaps a less brutal and less violent society will one day exist that will understand that life and earth are more important than products of death and cruelty. And if not, then to hell with it all anyway! Whether my supporters or detractors think I’m a freedom fighter or a lunatic with a gas can makes no difference to me. I have spent years verifiably promoting, supporting and fighting for Animal Liberation. I have seen the Animal victims of human injustice — thousands of them — with my own eyes and what I saw was blood, guts and gore. I made a promise to those Animals, and to myself, to fight for them in any way I could. I regret none of it, and I never will! You can take my freedom, but you can’t have my submission. [Bond 2011]

The second speech also made refuses to identify with the [dis]functions of disciplinary power used by the State. Bond challenged the neoliberal trope of rehabilitative justice by calling out the U.S. Attorney. He claimed that it was not his crimes that would be judged in handing down a sentence, but that it was because he is, “unrepentant and outspoken…this court is not going to show me mercy…instead of lying to the court in a feeble attempt to save myself…” (Bond 2011b) . In an interesting dialectic of performativity, Bond disidentifies with disciplinary power while being interpellated within it through the judicial proceedings that legally reify the construct of ecoterrorist.

He recognizes the “hailing” and attempts to suspend the interpellation momentarily through this performance.

The second portion of the speech relies on apologia to shame the State and agri- vivisection. Bond does not apologize for his actions; rather he is “sorry” for the ways in which speciesism and capitalism naturalize the violence of foie gras. The speech queers the rhetoric of apologia itself, forcing the audience to question who is shaming who here, given the presumed protocol of this type of speech? He created disidentifactory thoughts amongst his audience, treating the courtroom as a theater and stage, by using poignant rhetoric such as: killing, sells skin ripped from the dead, poison the earth, and force

213 feeding to describe Tandy Leather. Bond also apologizes for being related to his brother, an accomplice in the sting operation that led to Bond’s arrest, as a worthless little snitch.

Bond apologizes for the unjust function of the legal system, “I am sorry that we live in a day and age where you can rape a child or beat a woman unconscious and receive less prison time than an Animal Rights activist that attacked property instead of people…I realize the laws of the land favor a business’ ability to make a profit over an Animal’s right to life” (Bond 2011b).

Bond creates a moral trajectory between anarchist antispeciesists and those who broke the law during slavery to protect African Americans, women that fought against the objectification of women under the law, and those who have been called “terrorists” or

“fanatics” during their time. He argues that the illegality of his crimes and the label of terrorist are simply historical coincidence that will not stand the test of time. The speech concludes, again, with a refusal to submit to the power of the State, “You can take my freedom, but you can’t have my submission” (Bond 2011b). Bond is a significant player in the anarchist antispeciesist movement through his actions prior to incarceration, his courtroom speeches, as well as the essays and speeches given while in prison. Though it is outside the scope of this chapter to focus on Bond in-depth, his rhetorical arc continues to evolve and warrants examination through academic scrutiny. Bond represents one of the first convicted of violating the AETA that utilizes online networks to publish while in prison. He has also undergone significant transformation while in prison with his personal and religious identity that are evident in his writings on anarchism and speciesism. In relation to performative power, Bond also has never strayed from his courtroom speech regarding remorse. Several environmental activists that have been

214 arrested have spoken out against direct action, or specifically the direct actions they were arrested for, and publicly questioned the efficacy of property destruction81. The remorse may be a public performance rather than introspective reflection, but they serve to reinforce the State narrative of a rehabilitative justice system. It also reinforces the power of the State by demonstrating a level of submission required from activists to reenter society. It is as if Homo Sacer is allowed to rejoin the general population only after a thorough disavowal of his crimes.

On the other hand, Bond has not publicly questioned his actions or his endorsement of illegal direct action remains unwavering. His lack of remorse minimizes the perceived power of the State for activists as he rearticulates his role as martyr. He continues to be a source of encouragement to activists and academic scholars in solidarity through his writings in academic texts, conferences, and activist convergences. Bond, in many ways, is a contemporary Homo Sacer, someone given the maximum jail sentence, assigned to a maximum-security prison reserved for domestic terrorists, and stripped of all civil liberties as punishment for his crime. But, his disavowal of the system that imprisoned him, his explicit critique of how the State supports violence, and his refusal to identify with the neoliberal rhetoric of rehabilitation show there is more performative power than simply exerting State power over Bond’s body. Bond demonstrates a particular articulation of disidentification that performs monarchical punishment from a position of power. Bond, and other activists alike, has the ability to challenge the State through these public condemnations that remain prolific through digital media.

81. Several of the environmental activists arrested with Operation Backfire participated in the filming of a documentary titled, If a Tree Falls: A Story of the Earth Liberation Front. Activists such as Daniel McGowan questioned their actions and if they were effective.

215 Aboveground activists engage in solidarity through social media to publicly align themselves with the illegal direct action, disidentifying with the presumed power of the

State aimed at targeted AELM activists. Prisoner support websites, Twitter feeds,

Facebook forums, Instagram pictures, activist trainings, conference papers, book chapters, and even baked good fundraisers are public performances that challenge the disciplinary function of the State through disidentification. In this sense, activists rely on direct action to create the spectacle of monarchical punishment, punishment by the sword, to undermine State power and capital through destruction.

Every time an activist knowingly breaks the law to liberate an animal or destroy property, the public is reminded of the potentiality of revolutionary change. Similar to how the monarchy would execute someone in public to instill fear in the citizens, and remind the public that the government posses power over all life, anarchist antispeciesists use direct action as an exposure of monarchical power to create disidentifactory thoughts. These activists use monarchical power as a way to remind the public the State is not all-powerful. It is not impossible to penetrate. They [activists] can pull back the curtains and expose the violence behind speciesist capitalism, and utilize the internet to spread this exposed violence widely through undercover footage inside agri-vivisection industries. Property destruction presents a unique challenge to the State’s reliance on disciplinary punishment, particularly when the activists go un-captured. Clandestine activists issue damning communiqués that undermine State authority and call out the

State-Corporate Industrial Complex. Further, these acts disrupt the social contract between corporations and the State. Neoliberal capitalism is predicated on the support of the State. The de-regulation of industry and global trade agreements attempt to restore or

216 renew the social contract between corporations and the State. The public performance of direct action activism demonstrates a hole in this contract, and the possibilities of how interpellation can be resisted. The State is weakened, unable to protect agri-vivisection industries from arson, a cyber attack, or a raid. Thus, the State must perform monarchical punishment and retaliate to illustrate it still has a monopoly on violence that will guarantee the social contract of capitalism. Further, the State relies on the dichotomy of good versus bad protestor to interpellate anarchist antispeciesists as ecoterrorists deserving of monarchical punishment.

Dialectics of Power in the Age of Neoliberalism

The proactive and reactive measures of the State, however, are tasked with both recouping power while maintaining the disciplinary truisms of neoliberalism. The State must respond with coercive punishment that instills fearful disincentives for challenging agri-vivisection industries, yet also demonstrates fairness and justice. This challenge relies on asymmetric modes of technopower to frame and conceal the punishment82. The passage of the AETA created the chilling coercive threat that acted as a disincentive, but did so in a way that revealed the punitive potential of the State. This potential was visibly manifest in the rhetoric used to legally invoke its power (Lovitz 2010; Parker 2009;

Potter 2011). The heavy reliance on terrorism rhetoric negated a performance of justice or presumed innocence during anarchist antispeciesist trials that invoked the AETA (Lovitz

2010). The AETA is a form of monarchical punishment that publicly violates protected

82. Activist-scholarship has interrogated the role of technology in State violence against anti-war, anti-nuclear, and anti-capitalist movements (Scheper-Hughes and Philippe Bourgois 2003; Žižek 2008; Price 2004; Price 2011; Loadenthal 2011b). The growing discourse, however, has historically ignored the ways in which the State targets the AELM. Contemporary scholarship, particularly from activists rather than academics, has begun to focus on the AELM since the passage of the AETA (Potter 2009; Potter 2011; Salter 2011; Salter 2012; Grubbs and Loadenthal 2013).

217 rights of citizens, such as criminalizing legal expressive activity that results in economic damage, establishing vanguard protections for legal and illegal “animal enterprises,” and creating legislation that uses broad brush strokes to define “conspiracy” (American Civil

Liberties Union n.d.; Lovitz 2010) In addition, the legislation increased penalties and prison sentencing, redefines the trial processes for AETA defendants, and carries with it

“terrorist enhancements” that have been used to house anarchist antispeciesists in maximum security Communications Management Unit (CMU) prisons that committed nonviolent crimes (Potter n.d.).

Louis Althusser, in his investigation of the reproduction of power, illustrated how ideology is not epiphenomenal (Althusser 1963; Althusser 1970; Althusser 2005). In other words, ideology does not just happen or solely exist as a top-down social force.

Rather, ideology and power are negotiated and reinforced in a much more dialectical performance of hegemony (Luxemburg 1900; Gramsci 1971; Chomsky et al. 1967;

Gramsci 1994; Žižek 2009). Despite the limits placed on freedom of speech through the

AETA, the legislation was voted through and supported by politicians. The legislation has been written into law for almost a decade, there have been several high-profile political activists tried under the AETA, and the label ecoterrorist continues to be used in popular media. Outside of anarchist antispeciesists that advocate direct action, there is a small constituency of activists invested in the efforts to challenge the legislation. The support for the AETA is more insidious than simply claiming the federal government forced an unjust legislation to protect industries. The public framing of the AETA indicates there is far more manufactured consent through interpellation than dissent.

Media outlets produce vague reports that paint U.S. democratic principles as

218 being under siege by ecoterrorists as a way to situate the disidentifactory thoughts produced by anarchist antispeciesist direct action. News reports emphasize that farmers and scientists constitute the American fabric of the U.S. economy. Politicians campaign on the platform of protecting American industries from ecoterrorists. Local communities and centers of education erase confrontational protest from the collective memory of social change, while simultaneously romanticizing individual leaders through exceptionality (Foucault 1980; Ong 2006; Harvey 2007a). Medical professional continue to profess the nutritional necessity for animal-based products in human diets.

Consistently, the messages presented through institutional sites of ideological influence coalesce corporate and State interests as American interests. In other words, to challenge

(or disidentify with) agri-vivisection industries is to challenge the State. Regardless of whether or not agri-vivisection industries are under siege by said ecoterrorists, the focus is on manufacturing of consent irrespective of validity. What becomes relevant are the ways in which individuals participate in the process of legally restricting access to speech. The State relies on this construction of the ecoterrorist to discourage not only direct action, but also the very disidentifactory thoughts they make possible.

Individuals actively participate in this interpellation of State power through ISA’s.

These ideological apparatuses rely on the hegemonic consent of the general population to accept and promulgate the unjust and coercive punishments of the AETA. The disciplinary nature of the AETA depends upon the willingness of the general public to accept and enact roles in self-policing. The general population would not engage in confrontational direct action against a vivisection lab because they identify with the ideological discourse that asserts the industry exists to protect and cure individuals of

219 disease. Further, the general population is consistently reminded that effective social movements use accepted channels of protest such as letter-writing campaigns. Not only are the industries presented as benign and beneficial, but also the act of protest is stigmatized as ineffective. Yes, the general population fears going to prison and thus does not throw a brick through the window of a slaughterhouse. But more importantly, individuals undergo a process of interpellation through various ISA’s that insists the slaughterhouse is a necessary component of nutrition and human dominion over other- than-human animals (Harper 2010). Through the Althusserian ISA’s, the power of the

State manifests to produce a spectacle of both monarchical and disciplinary punishment that targets anarchist antispeciesists through this interpellation as ecoterrists. The good subjects of neoliberal capitalism and speciesism refrain from home demonstrations or brick-throwing through a slaughterhouse window because they not only fear punitive legal punishment, they also do not believe the slaughterhouse is violating the (normative) species boundary of human-over-animal.

But this audience, the general population that consumes animals and believes in the necessity of government, is an easier sell. The State’s bigger challenge is to find creative manipulations of power that can inflict fear in a group of activists that actively critique the neoliberal rhetoric of the Prison-Industrial Complex. Inherent in the anarchist antispeciesist critique is the foundational belief that governmentality is violent, oppressive, and coercive(Amster et al. 2009; Best and Nocella 2006; Graeber 2009b).

These activists would throw a brick through a slaughterhouse window because they reject the notion that industries exists for their best reason, nor do they fear going to prison.

Anarchist antispeciesists do not rely on traditional social organizing that lend themselves

220 to State surveillance, and activists do not necessarily participate in mainstream ISA’s that provide the State with access to individuals83. The State relied on the AETA as a performance of power to legalize the interpellation of the bad protestor into the ecoterrorist. The State needed a way to swiftly repress anarchist antispeciesists that would locate activists on the periphery to create fractures inward.

Surveillance through Seduction: Sexual Infiltration

Sexual infiltration demonstrates spectacular hybrid of disciplinary and monarchical punishment that promulgates a security culture within activist circles.

Infiltration is not a new phenomenon. From the Black Panther Party to the American

Indian Movement to the modern-day case of Eric McDavid, government agencies have always placed infiltrators into activist cells to deceive. Arguably, they acted most aggressively toward the very organizations they feared most. The U.S. and the U.K. spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on activist surveillance programs, domestically these tend to be run through the Department of Homeland Security. These include funding infiltrators that use heteronormative sexuality as a tool to glean information.

With each exposed infiltrator, the sense of invasion intensifies. Activists are meant to be distrusting, reluctant to work with one another. The Panopticon-inspired modes of discipline have morphed, or been manipulated, as the guards are no longer in the tower.

83. Anarchist antispeciesists practice lateral organizing that does not centralize a membership base. The organizational structures of collectives are also lateral, leaderless, and clandestine. Activists within the movement have challenged religious, educational, familial, and local institutions that promulgate speciesism, capitalism, neoliberalism, etc. These activists oftentimes disengage with the institutions and create alternative forms of community.

221 They are lying in bed posing to be activists.84 The watchtower has moved to the bedroom with a domestication of the panopticon, a domestication of interpellation. There are six case examples that are woven throughout the analysis. These include three infiltrators in the U.K., and three in the U.S. The three U.K. infiltrators include: Mark Kennedy, Jim

Boyling, and Mark Jacobs. The three U.S. cases are “Anna,” Frank Ambrose, and

Brandon Darby. In different ways, these government employees used their physical body and sexuality to glean information from activists. They helped activists conspire to commit property damage, participated in years of demonstrating, and one used their role as a government employee to commit sexual violence against female activists with impunity. The cases demonstrate the magnitude of this practice and the years invested by these infiltrators.

Mark Kennedy worked for the Met, the National Public Order Intelligence Unit for over sixteen years, and asked to be moved to a more risqué unit. He spent between 7-

9 years embedded in climate camps, protests, and convergences. While being involved in the movement, Kennedy held meetings in over 22 countries. He traveled to convergences all over the world, and never hesitated to get in on lock downs, banner drops, the occupation of energy infrastructures, sabotage of facilities, and often served as the logistics person, driver, and funder of activities. He was paid an annual salary of $75,000 pounds plus expenses. The U.K. estimates they spent about $3,000,000 on the total

84. This topic and specific case studies have been expanded upon in several formal paper presentations and activist workshops. These include: Conference presentation presented at the New York Anarchist Bookfair, New York, NY, April 2011, Conference presentation presented at the Animal Liberation Forum, University of California Long Beach, CA, April 2011, Public Anthropology Conference -- (Re)Defining Power: Paradigms of Praxis, American University (Washington, DC), October 2011, and Graduate Student Sociological Association, George Mason University (Fairfax, VA), October 2011.

222 operation. Once his identity was revealed, women began to speak out that they had carried out long romantic and sexual relations with Kennedy. This was not a good turn of events, given that Kennedy had maintained a wife and child in his “non-undercover” world. He often joked about his “horizontal interrogation techniques,” and his ability to gain trust from young female activists (Grubbs and Loadenthal 2011a; Loadenthal

2014b).

Jim Boyling, known to activists as Jim Boyling, spent over five years infiltrating leftist movements in the U.K. He served as the lead organizer in many demonstrations with Reclaim the Streets. He was even responsible for organizing film and debate nights that were organized solely for the purpose of spying. The rooms in which the meetings were held were pre-wired with audio and video surveillance to record all of the conversations. While he was undercover in the movement, he married an activist and had two children with her. In order to testify against her, however, he filed for divorce after his investigation was over.

Mark Jacobs spent over four years infiltrating the Cardiff Anarchist Network, international anti-globalization networks, No Borders, and climate camps. He was the first to volunteer for positions that activists viewed as less desirable, often chairing meetings and recording notes. In several instances, he provided the funding for meetings and events that others could not front. He maintained a long-term relationship with an activist while conducting his investigation, and is accused of sleeping with activists while the relationship was going on. Several activists have spoken out that Jacobs pushed the

Cardiff Anarchist Network to engage in drinking, gossiping, and backstabbing to encourage splinters in the group.

223 The three domestic cases include a female infiltrator, an activist gone cooperative witness and informant, and an infiltrator who abused his job and sexually assaulted women. A woman by the name of “Anna” entered the leftist scene in the early 2000’s and was initially cast aside85. Anna, then 18 years old, was paid more than $65,000 by the federal government as an infiltrator. She editorialized her transformation into the animal and earth liberation movement in an infamous interview that appeared in Elle Magazine in 2008 (Potter 2008b). The magazine later printed a retraction, though it has more to do with journalistic accuracy than ethics:

Following consultation with federal agencies, we at Elle wish to retract this article. Not because of the stream of factual inaccuracies beginning in the second sentence (there has never been a CrimethInc. convergence in Athens, Georgia), but because in the current political climate it is irresponsible to even pretend to give a fair hearing to radical anti-capitalists. Even if Anna’s story is a cut-and- dried case of entrapment, we have to understand this as a necessary defense of our free market freedoms. [Potter 2008b]

The article was filled with inaccurate and sensationalized misrepresentations of the anarchist antispeciesist movements that Anna spent years infiltrating. Regardless, Anna was outspoken about the ways in which she relied on her physical appearance to gain the attention and trust from activists. Anna talked about how she adjusted her appearance to

“blend in” and altered her flirting mechanisms to appease McDavid’s non- heteronormative preferences. She seduced the then 19-year old Eric McDavid, spent long conversations talking about how they would commit these acts together, and made several mentions of promising sex. She encouraged him to come with her on a getaway,

85. As an informant with the FBI, the individual was given the pseudonym “Anna” and is only referred to as this in legal proceedings, media coverage, and all documents discussing the case. Similarly, she is refered to as “Anna” throughout this chapter.

224 and they went to a cabin in the woods to prepare incendiaries. Anna took McDavid to the store, explained what he needed to buy, and took him to a cabin. The cabin, however, was pre-wired with audio and video recording and owned by the FBI. Shortly after McDavid said he was going to do what Anna was taught him to, the FBI raided the home and arrested McDavid. He never actually committed the act, but based on the entrapped conversations with Anna, McDavid received the maximum sentence of 20 years conspiracy to damage property by fire and explosive.

The Civil Liberties Defense Center attorneys, Ben Rosenfeld and Mark

Vermeulen, worked closely with McDavid’s partner and director of www.supporteric.org, Jenny Esquivel, have maintained that this was a case of entrapment. The team expressed concern that the government failed to produce all documents to conceal the level of coercion Anna exercised. In 2013, they filed a Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request for the documents. The defense struggled to obtain the documents, but finally received over 1500 pages containing withheld details in the fall of

2014. The documents contained incident after incident of Anna suggesting direct action, offering to assist, making verbal threats when activists would not explicitly describe a hypothetical direct action, and sexual innuendos shared between Anna and McDavid. It became clear that Anna entrapped McDavid and played a central role in instigating the plans for the direct actions. The government refused to submit 1000 of the pages, however there was enough evidence to reopen the case. In January 2015, Judge England accepted an alternate plea to general conspiracy that carried a maximum sentence of five years (Civil Liberties Defense Center 2015). Because McDavid had already served over nine years, he was released forthwith. The plea deal required McDavid to waive all

225 claims for civil damages. The case and release of McDavid call into question the ways in which disciplinary punishment utilize sexual and emotional coercion to entrap activists.

McDavid and his support team have given interviews to discuss the case in the days following his release. Rather than simply focus on Anna or the ways in which McDavid was entrapped, the interviews draw attention to the prevalence of this tactic of punishment (York 2015). McDavid commented, in an interview with Democracy Now! the number of inmates that shared a similar experience with government infiltration overwhelmed that he. The CLDC attorneys has emphasized the precedence set by this case and the need to interrogate the ways in which the State relies on infiltration to penetrate activist cells.

Frank Abrose and Marie Mason lived in Cincinnati, Ohio with their two children86. He and his wife, Marie Mason, had been involved in local environmental and animal liberation demonstrations and teach-ins. They seemed compatible in their quest for justice and community engagement. That is, however, until the helicopters swarmed their hometown and dozens of government vehicles came barreling down the street.

Frank Ambrose, an activist involved in several direct actions with the Earth Liberation

Front, was approached by the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) and offered a plea deal if he would gather evidence on his wife, Marie. Ambrose agreed and began recording conversations with his wife, and encouraging her to engage in actions with him. After months of cooperation with the DHS, the government had a strong case

86. In 2014, Marie Mason’s support commit published a statement on www.supportmariemason.org announcing that Marie would like to transition to the male sex. Moving forward, the article requests people use the preferred name, Marius Jacob Mason, and male pronouns. To remain consistent with legal documents and newsreporting, I will only use the name, “Marie” and female pronouns for all events prior to July 7, 2014, and the name Marius from then after (Free Marius Jacob Mason n.d.).

226 against Mason to convict her of the 1999 crimes at the University of Michigan. Mason was arrested in 2008. The day Mason’s home was raided by the DHS, Ambrose filed for divorce so that he could testify against Mason in court. There are protections that protect spouses from having to testify against their significant other in a federal grand jury.

Mason was threatened with a life sentence in prison unless she plead guilty to charges of arson at a Michigan State University lab and confessed to 12 other acts of property damage. She received the maximum sentence requested by the prosecution, and two additional years from the added “terrorism enhancement,” a total prison sentence of 22 years. Mason’s sentence is the harshest prison sentence of anyone convicted of environmental sabotage to date (Support Marius Mason n.d.).

The last case demonstrates another way this power is utilized. The activists discussed thus far illustrate how the State appointed individuals as infiltrations or cooperative witnesses that utilized emotional and sexual coercion to glean information.

This case, however, illustrates how government employees utilize their role as a government employee to legally assault activists while infiltrating leftist movements.

Brandon Darby had been active in leftist circles for three years when charges of sexual assault began to circulate. In effort to abstain from the prison-industrial complex, activists encouraged Darby to engage in accountability processes87. These are used to help communities deal with sexual assault, and create a sense of accountability to the individual and the community. Darby, however, refused. When his identity was revealed,

87. Anarchist organizers have relied on accountability processes as a way to address abusive and disruptive behavior within social movements to circumvent the coercive and hierarchical processes of legal action. Rather than rely on the State to discipline activists, accountability processes facilitate collectivity by holding individuals accountable to one another. These processes also maintain autonomy by not subjecting one another to State discipline.

227 women began to speak out about the assaults they endured. The accusations were public and documented thoroughly. Darby was never charged with assault, and further never held to any accountability for how he abused his power as a government hired infiltrator.

By having others pose as activists and permeate radical circles for years, often using their bodies to sexually engage activists, these infiltrators perform disciplinary punishment reliant on monarchical power. Further, the State relies on the construct of ecoterrorism to excuse these exposed cases of sexual violence. It is within the rhetoric of terrorism that the State argues it justifiably engages in otherwise socially unacceptable behavior to protect agri-vivisection industries (and all they claim to provide) from terrorism. The

State’s violence is not with physical force or weapon, but rather it is with hiring individuals to sexually exploit activists and manipulate the trust in social organizing.

Ripples of Distrust in the Field

The State relies on sexual infiltration to not only gain access to activists through insidious violations of privacy, but to also fracture activists from one another through the performative functions of disciplinary punishment. Rather than solely relying on the

AETA and the prison-industrial complex as a mechanism of violence, the presence of infiltrators in activist circles causes a more insidious internalization of fear. These mechanisms of violence are deemed acceptable through the retaliatory interpellation of anarchist antispeciesists as ecoterrorists. The growing sense of distrust amongst activists, particularly those engaging in romantic relationships, is constantly redefining security culture. While attending the Resistance Ecology conference in Portland, Oregon, I approached a well-known activist that had just given a workshop. I had to leave the panel several times because my then two year old was jumping around and woke up my

228 sleeping infant. I came back in the room to introduce myself. As we were talking, my toddler began to scream she wanted to leave. Without thinking, I said I had to leave, but asked for his phone number. The conversation quickly turned uncomfortable and he looked at me very confused. His pause caused an immediate reflection on my part, where

I realized I had just made a rookie mistake. He responded, “I’m sure we can find ways to get in touch… I am online”. My partner was with me while we were having the conversation, and he remarked his own discomfort by my comment.

Throughout the conference, I had several markers that set me aside as different.

Upon arrival, I forgot to take off my wedding band that contains several [handed down] diamonds. After receiving two elongated stares of disgust at my hand, I quickly took off the ring and put it in my pocket. I was also the only woman breastfeeding in two of the panels. My presence throughout my fieldwork invited raised eyebrows and distrust, and for the authenticity of my data, I oftentimes did not disclose that I was doing research unless someone asked me. The ironic sense of paranoia during public gatherings that claim to challenge the surveillance State made it increasingly difficult to maneuver the boundary between academic and activist.

Sexual infiltration, as a performance of disciplinary punishment, has done more than just create a sense of distrust for activists in romantic relationships. It has also established the ways in which the State uses surveillance in intimate circles that are non- romantic. The largest federal investigation of environmental and animal activists, Operation Backfire, was a collaborative criminal investigation led by the

Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) that brought together seven State investigations including high profile arsons in the Pacific Northwest. Following multi-departmental

229 investigations dating back as far as 1996, on 20 December 2005, nationally coordinated police raids captured seven individuals residing in four US states. The individuals were charged through a 65-count indictment (Immergut et al. 2007) that included the charges of arson, attempted arson, conspiracy to commit arson and using a destructive device during the commission of a violent crime. The charging document alleges that the eleven defendants were responsible for 17 attacks, carried out in five states over a period stretching nearly a decade. The use of a conspiracy framework, and the additional

“Terrorism Enhancements” which add time to a defendants’ sentence served to pressure some individuals into cooperating with State prosecutors in the hopes of differentiating themselves from the larger group. In constructing the charging documents and recommended sentences, the State aimed to overcharge defendants to force compliance and the production of cooperating witnesses. To this end, facing multi-decade jail sentences, six of the eleven defendants acted as “confidential sources” in service of the prosecution. Four of the non-cooperating defendants—Nathan Block, Daniel McGowan,

Jonathan Paul, Joyanna Zacher—negotiated plea bargains with the prosecution wherein they pled guilty but were not required to provide information on other defendants. One defendant, Briana Waters, entered a plea of “not guilty” but was convicted at trial. A twelfth individual said to be a senior member of the group, William Rodgers (known as

“Avalon”) took his own life while in police custody prior to entering a plea.

Operation Backfire helped the State set a precedent within the prosecution of

ALF/ELF activists though the use of the conspiracy framework wherein a grouping of individuals are collectively charged with a series of crimes they may or may not had individual participation in. While charging documents do specify what individuals played

230 a role in each attack, the conspiracy framework discursively and legalistically links the group together, pressuring those who are less centrally involved to provide evidence against those active individuals in an attempt to mitigate sentencing. In addition, the

Operation provided some information concerning the State’s use of domestic surveillance and intelligence, previously assumed to be reserved for the collection of foreign intelligence. During the trial of Daniel McGowan, the State uncharacteristically offered the defendant an unexpected plea bargain when it the defense demanded the prosecution produce documentation explaining the source of signals intelligence. While no official documentation had been made public, it is presumed that the National Security Agency

(NSA), a single intelligence agency explicitly barred from being used against American citizens, gathered the information being used against McGowan. The McGowan controversy occurred alongside public outrage over President George W. Bush’s admission that warrantless wiretapping and NSA surveillance had been used in a number of domestic cases. The assumption is that during this period of heightened criticism on

Bush and his use of the NSA, that McGowan’s prosecutors were pressured into offering a plea bargain rather than admit in open court that the agency had provided evidence to the prosecution. Finally, the Operation demonstrated for the FBI the effectiveness of multi- departmental taskforce-styled investigation. Operation Backfire involved the participation of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco Firearms, and Explosives (BATF), the FBI, the

Bureau of Land Management (BLM), the US Forest Service, Immigration and Customs

Enforcement (ICE), as well as police departments from Eugene, OR, the Oregon state police, the University of Washington police, and the Lane County Sheriff’s Office of

Western Oregon. The cooperation and overlapping State agencies interpellated the

231 activists as ecoterrorists through the performative conflation of an “us” versus “them,” that warranted local, state, and federal agencies to work together and utilize surveillance mechanisms reserved for international terrorists.

The use of sexuality to infiltrate social movements and the ability to turn activists into cooperative witnesses through the threat of excessive prison sentences have created ripples of distrust amongst activists. With the increased technopower available to activist challenging the State there are increased ways for the State to exercise power through political repression. The Corporate-State Industrial Complex relies on ISA’s to naturalize the State’s monopoly of violence through speciesism and neoliberal capitalism. The State also has coercive mechanisms of punishment like the prison system to demarcate dissent as terrorism rather than responsible patriotism. Laws such as the AETA are a legal manifestation of the social contract between the State and agri-vivisection industries that have interpellate anarchist antispeciesists into ecoterrorists. But, anarchist antispeciesists have been critiquing the way capitalism and nepotism dictate laws for centuries

(Proudhon 1840; Kropotkin 1897; Goldman 1911; Bonanno 1987). Activists have been tragically aware of the ways in which the State manipulates activists in order to undermine their efforts in the Black Power movement, the American Indian Movement, and anti-nuclear movement, to name a few (Davis 1983; Churchill and Wall 1990; Della

Porta 1995; Della Porta and Fillieule 2004; Churchill and Vander Wall 2002; Price 2004;

Morris 2010; Davis 2013). But the recent release of McDavid is a jarring reminder that legal entrapment through government infiltration continues to be used in activist cases.

However the use of digital media requires a level of social encryption that has not available historically. Security culture proliferates leftist circles and is predicated on the

232 omnipresence of technology. While attending the Earth First! Rendezvous in 2014, my partner and I went through a checklist of security measures before entering the forest for the convergence. We left our wallets at home, did not bring any photo identification, took all political insignia out of the car that we had been traveling with, and only brought one cell phone. When we arrived to the campground, we left the cell phone locked in the glove box. I resisted the urge to take pictures of the physical surroundings, but also could not stop to take written notes. Whenever we met someone new, they were introduced by their pseudonyms such as Raven and Twinkle. Similar to my experiences at the

Resistance Ecology conference, I censored each interaction to remain vague and disinterested in asking questions.

The first workshop I attended at the Rendezvous was on security culture itself.

Two attorneys from the National Lawyers Guild (NLG) presented on the legal protections of activists in the U.S. Seated in a loose circle between the tall trees, scattered blankets, and makeshift chairs, the activists participated in a series of role-playing exercises. Phone and email encryption, forcible removal from a blockade, and stop-and-searches in your vehicle were among some of the exercises that I participated in. There is a palpable climate of suspicion in these convergences that make it difficult to forge honest, new connections with individuals. Someone attending the Earth First! Rendezvous brought up the use of cell phones in recording conversations and taking photographs, and insisted that all technology be placed in a locked box when activists get together. My role as an anthropologist, in many ways, may have been seen as threatening to the security of the culture. It created a moral and practical dilemma while gathering data in the “field” as I wanted to maintain credibility as an activist and protect the identities of those I worked

233 with, yet I was also attending with the intention to extract ethnographic notes for research.

Activists are constantly faced with the challenge of expanding their connections but not appearing predatory, trusting in their peers but minimizing their vulnerability, and ultimately advocating collectivity despite engaging in autonomous clandestine direct action. The volley of punishments between the State and anarchist antispeciesists attempt to discipline one another through performative power. The State continues to utilize a hybridity of disciplinary and monarchical punishment to repress activists, however technology has provided a new terrain for dissent. Anarchist antispeciesists are able to fracture infiltrators through social media campaigns that expose suspected individuals.

Activists rely on social media to expose cooperative witnesses, suspected infiltrators, and to train one another in ways to resist State surveillance. There are entire websites dedicated to exposing government infiltrators, cooperative witnesses, and individuals’ accused of committing sexual violence88. Activists have formed prisoner support networks and above ground networks that challenge the State’s monopoly of violence through civil lawsuits, FOIA requests, and supporting legal defense funds for accused activists. Activists can expose the State’s use of monarchical punishment through social media in ways that challenge even the most apathetic individual’s view on speciesism.

Activists can educate one another, including justice-focused legal centers such as CLDC,

88. Activists have created webpages devoted to exposing surveillance in the sustained security culture in the AELM. These sites include, but are not limited to, the Informant Tracking on www.earthfirstjournal.org, the Movement Snitches page on https://animalliberationpressoffice.org/NAALPO/snitches/, Internet Security guidelines on https://animalliberationpressoffice.org/NAALPO/security/, SnitchWire on http://snitchwire.blogspot.com/, Snitch Alert on Tumblr https://www.tumblr.com/search/snitch%20alert, and Snitch Watch on https://snitchwatch.wordpress.com/. These websites provide names, background, and warnings for activists. The websites also provide practical skills to protect against surveillance (both digital and physical).

234 about encryption to resist wiretapping, grand jury indictments, search warrants, and security culture itself. These workshops do not even require a physical space that may increase individual vulnerabilities, but rather can exist solely online on encrypted sites.

Within this constant exchange of power between activists and the State, anarchist antispeciesists are particularly effective in their performance of monarchical power to undermine speciesism and neoliberal capitalism.

Through social media forums, such as Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram, activists engage in talkback. I became an active participant in these online forums, particularly in the days before and after large demonstrations. Activists are able to posture, knowing these mediums are heavily surveilled by the State, and undermine the

State’s use of disciplinary and monarchical punishment. In the preceding chapters, I explored the commonly used hashtags on Twitter, the playful Facebook posts, the powerful declarations accompanying photographs on Instagram, and the ways in which this rearticulates power. Within such a tightly protected interpersonal security culture, the internet became an integral site for this study. It became increasingly difficult to engage in personal conversations during demonstrations or convergences because of a sense of suspicion and the personal challenges of conducting research as the mother of small children. The use of CDA, in combination with utilizing narrative as a tool for analysis, provided a useful lens to examine the ways in which individuals utilize the internet to

(re)create their identities as a rearticulation of power. The internet provides a platform for social actors to express their politic veiled by anonymity. Activists are able to veil their identity in a communiqué following a direct action, whereas other activists rely on the public nature of their social media accounts to maintain status and credibility within the

235 movement. Activists face the punitive powers of the State for advocating anarchist and antispeciesist political leanings, whereas the State relies on anonymity and deception to gain authenticity and credibility as a provocateur in anarchist and antispeciesist circles.

This dialectic of visibility and anonymity is one of the marked tensions between activists, oftentimes debated through public forums at convergences and academic conferences.

The performance of monarchical and disciplinary punishment, particularly through interpellating anarchist antispeciesists as ecoterrorists, represents a powerful sentiment; direct action as disidentification successfully challenges fundamental ideologies that undermine State power. Although activists remain fearful of targeted legislation such as the AETA, police violence, and surveillance, activists are also aware of the ways in which direct action anarchist antispeciesists have been successful. These campaigns continue to claim victory against the State-Corporate Industrial Complex through illegal direct action that forces the State to violate its performance of a fair and just juridical system. These activists are targeted because they pose successful challenges to both State-sponsored capitalism and the monopoly of violence. The interpellation of disidentification as ecoterrorism suggests there is something that the State feels particularly threatened by. The rhetorical and revolutionary potential of direct action pose a threat to the industries most profitable for the federal government (Lovitz 2010; Potter

2011; Loadenthal 2014a). The State’s social contract with agri-vivisection to protect these capitalist entities is challenged with each arson, laboratory raid, and each time the letters A.L.F. are spray painted across the walls of a slaughterhouse.

The State is expected to perform the disciplinary functions of a punitive justice system that guarantees each citizen a trial in which they are innocent until proven guilty.

236 The State must also perform the neoliberal functions of disciplinary punishment in order to maintain the façade of freedom of speech and assembly. However, the State must also uphold its contract with the targeted agri-vivisection industries. Thus, the State engages in illegal surveillance of activists, hires individuals to entrap activists, and passes targeted legislation that creates disproportionate sentencing to place ecoterrorists in CMU prisons with Al Qaeda operatives (Center for Constitutional Rights 2012). These tactics demonstrate that the State still does utilize monarchical punishment to deny citizens the right to free speech and assembly. However, the tactics of monarchical punishment used by the State beg several moral questions. Is sexual infiltration a form of rape, acknowledging that activists engaged in sexual relations based on deception? Should government infiltrators that intentionally deceived activists and engaged in sexual relations be held accountable? If an activist who engaged in sexual relations with a government infiltrator became pregnant, is the State then liable for child support? Alas, none of these manipulations of State power are particularly noteworthy given the history of surveillance and violence against activists. What is noteworthy, however, is the ways in which anarchist antispeciesists utilize tactics that emulate this performance of disciplinary and monarchical punishment to further disidentify with the interpellation of activism as ecoterrorism.

Conclusion: Dialectical disidentification and Resisting ‘ecoterrorist’

Anarchist antispeciesists engage with State power through a rhetorical dialectic of performing repression and punishment as disidentification. On the one hand, direct actions represent a disregard for coercive State capitalism; it is a refusal to submit to this ideology. They act without fear of the legal system. They denounce hierarchy and

237 promote collectivity. Holistic politics that formulate into total liberation. Walter Bond, in his essay titled, “I am the Lone Wolf,” Bond specifically addresses the Green Scare.

Bond argues that the concept of “Green Scare” is a moniker that is used to silence activists. And that to even call it the “green scare” gives it power. From the walls of his prison cell, Bond proclaims that activists should act collectively and without fear, they should disidentify with the State’s interpellation into ecoterrorists. Bond’s perspective, however, struggles with this disidentification several essays later when he laments that he acted without fear a trusted his brother and told him about the arsons in Colorado and

Utah. Bond continues to sign his essays with the pseudonym The Lone Wolf and advocates the importance in acting alone. Political prisoners simultaneously claim there is power in collectivity and that the reactionary punishment of the State is ineffective, while also lamenting that their peers deceived them. Thus, activists outside of the Prison-

Industrial Complex rely on performance to posture a cohesive response. The online presence of prison support websites and solidarity actions demonstrate that activists have not internalized the fear of the State, or become subjected to the interpellation into ecoterrorists. In responses that do acknowledge the interpellation as performed through punishment by the State that manifests as political repression, activists highlight the continuous acts of direct action in spite, or as a refusal to submit. Foucault’s theory of power and punishment, as a framework in which the interpellation of disidentification is visible, provides a useful way to understand how the spectacle of direct action is retaliates against the state through punishment by the sword.

Direct action, particularly illegal direct action, effectively challenges the State’s monopoly of violence through performances that queer the retaliatory interpellation of

238 disidentification. Defacing and destruction of property. Liberation of animals from vivisection labs. It is a different type of monarchical punishment that interrupts interpellation. This type of monarchical punishment used by anarchist antispeciesists blends disciplinary power because it relies on the creation of a different kind of panopticon, one that intends to create a corporate fear through disidentification. This type of disidentification challenges the perceived power of the State and reminds the public the importance of demolishing the internalized watchtower. Agri-vivisection industries question, or disidentify with, whether they are actually protected by the State, through the neoliberal capitalist social contract, from the ecoterrorist. The performative protests with

The Bunny Alliance that engaged the angry neighbors of vivisectors in detailed descriptions of experimentation created disidentifactory thoughts that called into question what constitutes “science.” Anarchist antispeciesists create a form of disidentification through direct action, and its performative spectacle of discipline, that challenge the

State’s reliance on good versus bad subjects. The spectacles call into question deeply held beliefs about species, capital, and authority while proposing an alternative political imaginary in which agri-vivisection industries should be fearful. Rather than allow the

State to monopolize monarchical punishment, anarchist antispeciesists create these performative spectacles of direct action through a symbolic beheading of capitalism.

Direct action as a form of disidentification recapitulates neoliberal capitalism and speciesism through the spectacle created by the performance of monarchical punishment

239 CHAPTER SEVEN

CONCLUSION

By the time the fire burned itself out the next morning, all that remained was a 12- foot-long banner that read: "If you build it, we will burn it." [Schorn 2005]

Welcome to the struggle of all species to be free. We are the burning rage of this dying planet…The war of greed ravages the earth and species die out every day. ELF works to speed up the collapse of industry, to scare the rich, and to undermine the foundations of the state…We show the enemy that we are serious about defending what is sacred. Together we have teeth and claws to match our dreams. Our greatest weapons are imagination and the ability to strike when least expected….1000’s of bulldozers, powerlines, computer systems, buildings and valuable equipment have been composted. Many ELF actions have been censored to present our bravery from inciting others to take action. We take inspiration from Luddites, Levelers, Diggers, the Autonome squatter movement, the ALF, the Zapatistas, and the little people- those mischievous elves of lore. Authorities can’t see us because they don’t believe in elves. We are practically invisible. We have no command structure, no spokespersons, no office, just many small groups working separately, seeking vulnerable targets and practicing our craft. Many elves are moving to the Pacific Northwest and other sacred areas. Some elves will leave surprises as they go. Find your family! And let’s dance as we make ruins of the corporate money system… [Earth Liberation Front 1997]

Anarchist antispeciesists engage in physical and digital direct action to challenge the

State’s interpellation of good versus bad subjectification through spectacular performances that create disidentifactory screens. The dialectic between physical and digital activist spaces, the use of terministic screens, the role of the stage, and the performative functions of protest were negotiated through anthropological discourses of power, resistance, and performativity. The study was structured to address a series of research questions that guided the data collection and analysis. The project had both political and personal ramifications that impacted my dual roles as an academic and as an activist. I was called to task on several occasions to clarify my political priorities after

240 activists found out I was also gathering academic research. Initially, I had intended on conducting in-depth interviews with activists throughout the data collection period. After receiving a few negative responses from activists when I requested an interview, and in the face of a growing fear of State surveillance, I decided to revisit the notion of interviewing. Through a flexible, mixed-methodological approach, I conducted an 18- month participant-observation ethnographic study that incorporated digital media as text.

The research was guided by a central research question: How is leftist resistance strategized and actualized within the ideological, social and economic [super-] structures of the State and neoliberal capitalism, and how does such a positioning impact effective activism from the left? To address the questions, I integrated the data gleaned from both physical participation and digital engagement in activist spaces.

Similar to how the data collection led to a reexamination of my selected methods, the process of aggregating data led me to the realm of performance studies. I had originally relied solely on queer theory as a way to articulate the disidentification facilitated through direct action, but later found that queer theory also provided a useful lens to examine the performative function of political action that rearticulates and reimagines the revolutionary potential of anarchist antispeciesist direct action. In Chapter

Three: Ethnography, I collated a series of significant experiences during the data collection period that set up the subsequent data analysis chapters. Though the analysis primarily focused on ethnographic events, activists’ use of digital media to organize and publicize political action, to engage in national and international networking with activists, and disseminate information to a wide audience necessitates the multi-sited analysis used throughout this study. The use of CDA and a queer linguistic approach

241 facilitated the focus on how power is negotiated through language, and how ultimately; the oppressed can use language in social justice aims. Activists engage with digital media to strategize and actualize anti-authoritarian and antispeciesist critiques as a form of disidentification because it facilitates an international, anonymous stage to reimagine the ideological and economic [super-] structures of the State. When activists converge in public spaces to organize or engage in political theater, the social labor of finessing new members or interrogating the authenticity of one another has already been filtered through the screen of digital media. There were many instances in which activists in a public space approached me and disclosed they recognized me from my presence on digital media. In a particularly telling moment, a stranger approached me at the grocery store in Washington, D.C. and asked how a particular activist was doing. Although the space was not necessarily marked as political, the stranger recognized me and felt a sense of connectedness to me through digital media, even though we had never met. The intricacies of voice during the performances of direct action demonstrated a constant renegotiation of aggressive language, playful tones, public relations, and educator. CDA provided a useful framework to incorporate these sometimes contradictory voices that challenged structures of power (speciesism and neoliberal capitalism).

The ideological, social and economic [super-] structures of the State detailed in

Chapter Four: Neoliberal Capitalism and Constructing the Ecoterrorist map the interconnected institutions of power facilitated by neoliberal capitalism and speciesism.

The political economy of the State functions as an interconnected nexus of legal, political, corporate and medical industries that ultimately reify and extend dimensions of sovereignty. The concept of corporate sovereignty illustrates the ways in which the

242 ideologies of speciesism, capitalism, and neoliberalism naturalize political repression through the passage of industry-vanguard legislation such as the AETA. These legislations and subsequent legal trials of activists serve a performative function as disciplinary punishment, relying on the rhetoric of fear to fragment activists from one another. The conditions in which anarchist antispeciesists engage in confrontational direct action are extrapolated within the structures of neoliberal capitalism and speciesism themselves. As discussed in Chapter Four: Neoliberal Capitalism and

Constructing the Ecoterrorist, anarchist antispeciesists face disproportionate financial penalties, prison sentences, and mechanisms of surveillance to silence dissent. These mechanisms of repression have drawn the attention of the National Lawyers Guild, the

Civil Liberties Defense Center, and other legal collectives aimed at protecting the First

Amendment.

The political economic terrain of neoliberal capitalism described in Chapter Four called into questions the processes of interpellation that construct protest as terrorism.

Specifically, the construction of the ecoterrorist relies on a “hailing to” and acceptance of speciesism and neoliberal capitalism. The examination of this construction contextualized the subsequent chapters that focused on the dialectical relationship between anarchist antispeciesist direct action and State repression. The analysis of Chapter Five: Direct

Action as Spectacle, provided a close examination of how the performance of direct action creates a spectacular screens in which activists, targets, and onlookers can disidentify with interpellation. Each public convergence I attended featured at least one panel discussion addressing technology and surveillance. Although activists utilize digital media to advance their aims of radical social change, activists are also astutely aware of

243 how these technologies are being used to fragment them from one another. There is a growing literature on the ways in which digital media is revolutionizing social movements, both in creating advancements and debilitating challenges. For example, the

Earth First! Rendezvous featured panel discussions about surveillance also provided tactical trainings in cryptography, hacking/hacktivism, and security practices regarding the use of cellular phone. The trainings serve a performative function, as they undermine the State’s monopoly of violence and use of surveillance through a refusal to submit to the paradigm of good protestor. Activists are able to effectively challenge the State through performances through a disidentification that allows them to deny the asymmetric distribution of power. For example, activists establish temporary spaces that suspend the overwhelming violence perpetrated against other species and demand the

(unfathomable) recapitulation of neoliberal capitalism and speciesism. Direct action engages with the political imaginary through creative political theater facilitate disidentifactory thoughts through comical, humorous, satirical, and emotional performances that make the impossible seem possible.

The research illustrated, interestingly, that the interplay between the State and anarchist antispeciesists did not adhere to the initial theoretical framework I had proposed. Preliminary research and personal experience had pointed to the State utilizing the technopower of surveillance through Foucault’s concept of disciplinary punishment to silence dissent by interpellating the bad protestors into ecoterrorists. As Chapter Six:

Dialectical Discipline and Performative Power demonstrated, although the State does rely on this traditionally theorized mechanism of power, and the State does interpellate the bad protestor into ecoterrorists, the State also engages in very public displays of

244 grotesque violence through sexual infiltration and a punitive prison system that exercises de facto sovereignty. This hybridity of State power is used to punish activists for engaging in antiauthoritarian and antispeciesist direct action. But upon close analysis of this volley between direct action and political repression, it became clear that activists were relying on direct action as monarchical power. Critical scholars have already begun to examine the ways in which the State actively represses social movements. This study, however, provided a unique lens to examine the ways in which direct action activists are actively resisting the hybrid use of disciplinary and monarchical punishment. Chapter

Six: Dialectical Discipline and Performative Power examined the ways in which confrontational, playful, and satirical performances not only create disidentifactory thoughts with onlookers, but the performances also queer the State’s monopoly of violence through monarchical punishment. The State focuses on how they can interpellate the bad protestor into the ecoterrorist; meanwhile anarchist antispeciesists are rearticulating the very meaning of terrorism through spectacular protest. Rather than accept the repressive construct of ecoterrorist, anarchist antispeciesists encourage brick throwing, refuse to grovel during sentencing hearings, and publicly support political prisoners that are legally labeled ecoterrorists.

The integration of performance studies made space for the creatively crafted political theater that publicly punishes the State, interrupting the attempt to interpellate anarchist antispeciesists as ecoterrorists. Direct action, from its inception to its implementation to the rhetorically crafted communiqué disseminated, relies on a symbolic appropriation of the guillotine. As the flames radiate off the slaughterhouse, as the beagles are carried over the laboratory fence, and as the undercover footage of

245 vivisection is displayed on the digital screen, speciesism hangs from the gallows and is severed from the paradigm of good versus bad. The paradigm itself is queered, forcing the audience to disidentify with omnipotent power of the State when confronted with activists that refuse to submit, the altruistic values of science when face-to-face with photos of maimed beagles, and ultimately, the rhetoric of terrorism. The potentiality for revolution, then, feels palpable to anarchist antispeciesists. Through disidentification, activists create alternative screens that politically reimagine the currently commodified relationship between human animals and ecologies. This disidentification, facilitated by the performance of direct action, talks back to the State’s reliance on interpellation in powerful ways.

The physical and digital direct actions are predicated on the lingering threat that they will be back. Although the actions only temporarily sever these structures of power and may not create sustained disidentification, the actions create a lasting financial impact. Further, the ability to engage in political theater in these temporary spaces serves to solidify the resolve of activists that are otherwise overwhelmed by the loss of other- than-human animal life and State power. Neoliberalism, according to Graeber, has become part of the fictional narrative of U.S. capitalism and globalization. Marx would call is the opiate of the masses, comparable to religion. Alas, it is during the proclamations that demonstrators disidentify with the alienation, the powerlessness, the veiled accountability, and overt frustrations felt by those subject to neoliberal capitalism.

The demonstration purposefully exaggerates the rhetoric of neoliberalism: rationality, individual agency, free enterprise, market driven capitalism, and individual responsibility to force targets, onlookers, and participants to question the paradigms in which they are

246 interpellated. In turn, those observing, participating, and targeted are left counting the ways these paradigms are ludicrous. Thus, the demonstration, as a spectacle, successfully creates an alternative screen in which audiences can disidentify to critique the ways in which globalization and capitalism serve to naturalize the hegemonic corporatization within the neoliberal moment.

Voice becomes the central tool in which the demonstrators utilize exaggeration.

Similar modes of subversion, political street theater and drag, utilize the voice in combination with physical bodily performance. The performance of exaggeration does not solely rely on what is said, but also how it is said and how their bodies are presented.

Dressed in similar clothes as the observers, the demonstrators can perform respectability through conforming to the societal norms of protest. Specifically during home demonstrators in densely populated areas, activists may forego the use of black bloc and dress as if they joined the demonstration on their way to brunch. As an anarchist principle, these collectives are not organized through hierarchical leadership. However, there are pragmatic horizontal organizing practices used to ensure someone participating in the political action will serve as a liaison to both the public and law enforcement. Their performance of exaggerated neoliberalism is not only embodied in chants and proclamations, it is further articulated through dress, communication styles, posture, and bodily presentation.

This analysis contributes to social movement theory within anthropology, and specifically to the growing discourse surrounding neoliberalism. Through a queer linguistic approach to CDA, textual analysis, and ethnographic observation, it became clear these are not merely street theater of public shaming, but rather they directly

247 challenge the restructuring of global capitalism within the contemporary neoliberal moment. These demonstrations utilize the strategic rhetoric of exaggeration and satire as a mode of resistance to facilitate disidentification. The paradigms in which the State relies on to interpellate audience members are exaggerated to the extent that it is both laughable and tragic. Through the viewing of these paradigms as laughable and tragic, audience members begin to question their complicity with them. The AELM is not unique in its use of political theater to exaggerate systems of oppression, as evidenced in the history of drag performance in the gay liberation and queer liberation movements.

Despite the historical trajectory of its utility, the use of play and performance in the

AELM is understudied within anthropology. Hierarchical animal rights organizations such as People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) are given academic credence through feminist critiques that emphasize the racist, sexist, and heteronormative nature of PETA’s street performances. But collectives such as SHAC and DARTT remain outside the scope of anthropological discourses on social protest. Graeber posits that the political imaginary is constrained to only think within the current modes of existence presented: capitalism, neoliberalism, globalization, and authoritarianism.

Because anarchist antispeciesist direct action relies on a political imaginary beyond the existence of current modes of social relations, the concept of play serves as an essential tool to analyze their rhetorical significance.

Throughout Chapter Five: Direct Action as Spectacle and Chapter Six: Dialectical

Discipline and Performative Power, the ethnographic texts demonstrated the significant rhetorical functions of performing monarchical punishment against the State. From the unapologetic rhetoric of Walter Bond during the sentencing hearings following his arsons

248 claimed by the ALF to the free stylin’ delivered on the lawn on Marineland, anarchist antispeciesists utilize monarchical punishment to challenge the State. There is a growing prevalence of anarchists that have leaked classified government and corporate documents through hacktivism, inspiring anarchist antispeciesists to gravitate toward the larger anarchist movement. The anarchist movement in the U.S. has a long-established history of direct action against the State, whereas the antispeciesist movement became more visible in the late 1970’s. The use of direct action remains marginalized in the overarching animal advocacy movement, whereas direct action is a necessary component to anarchist organizing. In this way, the identity as “anarchist” serves an important rhetorical function when attempting to punish the State through direct action. The State has a far more palpable fear of the anarchist movement than the antispeciesist movement, in part because it is so marginalized.

There is gap within social movement literature that overlooks the theoretical contributions of direct action activists that identify as antispeciesists. The erasure of these activists has meant the absence of dissenting voices that effectively challenge State authority. Perhaps it is because of the effectiveness of these strategies that they lay outside the neoliberal university that benefits from capitalism and speciesism. This project is part of a larger intellectual political effort to incorporate anarchist antispeciesist direct action into anthropological discourses on resistance. Admittedly, I began this project with the expectation to attend frustratingly problematic demonstrations that merely reinscribed neoliberal individualism in naming, shaming, and blaming. My own scope of analysis was hindered, initially, through these assumptions and they almost kept me from attending at all. Following the insistence of Graeber, I challenged myself to

249 think outside of existing modes of protest and tap into the political imaginary. The political imaginary, in this case, involved subjecting myself to potential arrest and public embarrassment. In the populated areas near my own home, I stood with these activists and chanted, proclaimed, and engaged on-lookers. I dressed in casual clothing, but sported a pro-vegan shirt and button on my messenger bag. I allowed myself to be videotaped and was photographed by corporate-hired private investigators throughout the day. Although all of the participants’ names are anonymized within this analysis, mine remains publicly in solidarity within academic circles.

Future research should continue to include direct action, regardless of legality, within the spectrum of both strategies and tactics analyzed. The act of analyzing direct action does not imply approval or complicity of the actions, though it should be encouraged to maintain transparency. There has been a historical devaluation of qualitative research that not only acknowledged the researcher’s subjectivities, but also explicitly embraced them. Reflexivity is a powerful methodological approach that contextualizes the unique contributions of the researcher. The veiled subjectivities that become masked in the rhetoric of objectivity lead to speculation and distrust between research participants and the researcher. The violent history of vulnerable populations being exploited in the name of scientific progress and academic research serve as constant reminders that research has political and ideological ramifications that extend far beyond the specific study. Future research should interrogate the methodological approaches to ethnographic research with activists that are both transparent and empowering. Critical scholarship should be held accountable to advance aims of social justice through praxis-based research. Specific to this project, future research should

250 include academics that do publicly endorse confrontational direct action as an effective form of resistance. Reflexivity, in this case, provides a methodological explanation to address the assumptions and interpellated paradigms brought to the table by the researcher. The researcher can then interrogate their transformation or disidentifcatory thoughts, allowing a more transparent engagement with the discourse.

In the final moths of this project, Marineland Animal Defense issued a statement that the campaign was defunct effective immediately (Marineland Animal Defense n.d.).

The announcement specifically referenced the financial and social pressures that have been exacerbated by Marineland’s use of SLAPP suits. The marine amusement park has filed eight lawsuits over the last three years, tying the activists’ efforts up with legal proceedings and the performative disciplining of bureaucracy. Future research should interrogate the rhetorical significance of this decision from MAD, and the ways in which future organizing takes place against the marine amusement park. The activists will also utilize the public stage of digital media to further articulate their decision and the functions of anti-captivity activism in the Niagara Falls, Canada area.

The focus in this study on performativity provided a particularly useful frame to engage with direct action activism. The combination of performance studies and linguistic analysis, specifically critical discourse analysis, facilitated an inductive analysis that incorporated local modes of communication to uncover the ways in which anarchist antispeciesists engage in direct action. The transdisciplinary approach integrated rhetorical theories within communication, performance studies, and anthropological discourses to examine the symbolic use of political theater as a mode of protest. Future research should foster an integrative approach that does not rely on the constructed

251 boundaries of academic disciplines. Where one discipline falls short, another discipline may provide a complementary lens to expand the analysis. Specifically, the study of direct action facilitates a transdisciplinary framework that values symbolic, satirical, humorous, and aggressive rhetoric that lies at the intersections of various social movements. Activists engage in coalitional politics and have integrated the strategies and tactics from other movements benefit from collaboration and creative appropriation.

Academics, similarly, can benefit from a collaborative and creative exchange that rearticulates fragmented discourses into intersectional dialogues.

The use of participant-observation in this ethnographic analysis facilitated a level of imaginary that required anthropological play and performance. In order to even analyze the data collected, I had to think in terms of drag and political theatre and disidentify with the paradigms of good versus bad protest(or). The proclamations and chants were not literal, nor were they meant to endorse the façade of agency in neoliberal capitalism. The rhetorical nature of these protests is playful, constantly mocking the rhetoric that interpellates us all as subjects within neoliberal capitalism and speciesism.

As an audience seated in front of the stage in which anarchist antispeciesists expose the fallacies of individualism and capitalism, we are supposed to feel sadness and repulsion when the demonstrations provide graphic proclamations detailing vivisection. We, as an audience, are meant to laugh at the childlike chants and reapproriated versions of pop songs that mock the police. Disidentification is an intended response to the performance and it is met with the challenge to act upon those disidentifcatory thoughts. Affect is a necessary and powerful tool for revolutionary change. Similar to how the performative spectacle of drag challenges the static construction of gender and pushes it into a state of

252 crisis, so too, does the use of voice through exaggerated mimicry and aggressive rhetoric move neoliberal capitalism and speciesism toward a state of crisis. The dialectical discipline of disidentification through both the construction of ecoterrorism and the refusal to submit to that paradigm, illustrate the performative power at stake. Those who are targeted by direct actions are left feeling helpless and frustrated with their lack of agency within the globalized neoliberal corporate terrain. On-lookers are left counting the ways in which politicians, corporate figureheads, scientists, and medical practitioners are cogs within the vast terrain of globalized capitalism. Neoliberal capitalism becomes the joke; it becomes the laughable social construction that holds no salient relationship to the false promises the demonstrators are calling out. Science is seen as violence. Meat is seen as murder. Milk becomes a manifestation of rape and infanticide. The spectacular performances of anarchist antispeciesist direct action confront the State’s interpellation and propose an alternative. It is this strategic re-framing that situates the chants and proclamations delivered by anarchist antispeciesists, the use of digital media, the public vigils, and so on, within a trajectory of effective political theatre. The bullhorn is the stiletto heels and corset; anarchist antispeciesists are but merely spectacular revolutionaries in drag.

253 APPENDICES

APPENDIX A I am going to try and make this as quick as I possibly can, and as painless as possibly as I can. But I need everyone’s attention for the next little bit. And I need people to pass along this information on to others as they come in. So, as most people are aware, I think, at this point, Marineland is very litigious. So that means they want to go to court a lot. They sued five people at this point They are claiming damages of a total of $13 million. One of those people being sued is myself. What happened with that claim is they filed December 12, 2012. In early March, we sent them back terms striking their statement of claims. Which means that we believe it all to be false and fictitious Which means it's a lie. And they agreed to the terms on April 12. So, I have to give you guys a legal PSA So that everyone here is on board and at least aware of what is happening What your rights are at this demonstration. Really quickly, If people don’t know the property line. The property line is not these stakes that John Holer put in the ground yesterday To try and confuse you, The property line is the tree line. Everything from the shoulder of the road to the trees is municipal property. Under the charter of Rights of Freedoms, Freedom of Speech, and Freedom of Assembly, You have a right to stand here. No one can tell you otherwise. Okay? Now Everything on the other side of the tree line Is Marineland’s property. Including that fence. That is on Marineland’s property. Now, the legal agreement we have Is that we will respect their property and their rights

254 As long as they take their claim back from court Which they haven’t at this point. So I really need everyone today to be aware of this We need everyone to basically stay between The shoulder of the roadway and the tree line over to this side. Obviously the bus driver got confused (laugh), He was told to park up on Rapport’s BLVD But that didn’t happen. But that’s not a big deal. Basically one thing I really need to get across to everyone As well, Marineland can get an injunction, if there is repetition of law breaking what does that mean? What they wanted was 500 meters A buffer around their property of 500 meters. Look at this space. This is not 500 meters On the other side of the road is Niagara Parks property. If Marineland ever successfully gets an injunction This can never happen. This is what we fought for since October 7 Was to be able to hold this demonstration today. That is why it is so widely important That everyone understands their rights here today And also try and stay within those boundaries. And honor the agreement that we made. At the end of the day, I am in the legal system You guys are not. But I need to rely on you guys to be responsible And act responsibly And, you know, have a good inspiring Powerful day, powerful event. So, now that that is said I pass it off to other people And there are a couple things I want to get set up. We need some Road Warriors On this side, signs out To all the cars going by. And then we’re gonna need some

255 “Shut it down”, “Turn away crew” Over on the fence side To try and get people going into the park To not go in. And you can try whatever you want As far as appeals or chants or anything like that Just try and do it in unison and work as a team We need folks to sign the whale over here Check out all the tables and all the information There’s kid tables over there For folks that want to fold origami If anyone wants to lend a hand and help out Just find someone with a black armband. This is also, if you have a question, There’s a legal concern, There is a police officer telling you something that is contrary to what I just told you, Look for the black armbands and tell those cops “Hey, you need to find someone with a black armband” someone who is a police liaison at that point. Are we all good? (Cheers) Did everyone get sleep last night? (Muffled screams) Okay, so thank you very much for listening to that let’s pass this off to someone else. And let’s have a good demonstration (Cheers)

256

APPENDIX B

257 APPENDIX C

My thirst-I thirst for the freedom of certain animals. There are the animals you think are happy. You pay a lot of money to go and see. I thirst for them to be treated well. You may think of Marineland as a fun place to gather and enjoy a fun day. But have you seen what they look like up close? The terror and horror in their eyes What happens behind the scenes is not what you think. How they are treated won’t be a secret, after you listen to me. Good morning, protestors. Today I am going to talk to you about a place where beautiful animal lives starts and dies. What’s so wrong with Marineland anyway? I mean, they have rides, marine shows and lots of wild life to look at all day. While we are having fun, we know Marineland’s owner, John Holer, illegally catches his wildlife. And now, Marineland has one Orca whale left, Kiska. She had to watch 26 of her own kind die, five of which were her own children. She is now sad and alone. Living in a small tank, her own blood trailing behind her. The secret behind Marineland is slowly being exposed. The natural habitat of the majority of the animals at Marineland is the ocean. When they arrive to Marineland, they are welcomed into small pools that are made out of table salt and water. That’s the kind of salt you put on your French fries. Not what they really need… Which is marine salt. The land animals also suffer. There have been many complaints about the bears And how they always fight And kill each other’s cubs. You will also notice that they never have a chance to hibernate… Which isn’t natural to the bears. Many people lose sight of the animals when they are having fun, But MAD, Marineland Animal Defense, can clear your mind. They work to educate the public about what is really happening at the park. I was lucky enough to meet with one member from MAD, Mrs. Sefton, Who is also a teacher at our school.

258 Mrs. Sefton also protested in front of Marineland and MAD was created in early 2011. It was made up of citizens who were concerned about the welfare of the animals. Their main goal is to protect them by telling people what really happens at Marieneland. One particularly sad story is about Junior, an Orca whale who didn’t like performing So they kept him in a warehouse with two other dolphins Who he watched die and then later died himself, Sad and alone With no one to say goodbye to. Male orcas spend their whole lives with their mothers And live in big family units. Clearly this does not happen at Marineland Because they get split up. Orcas swim hundreds of kilometers every day, Which is very difficult to do In those small pools. So what can we do about this? What can we do about what is happening To the animals in Marineland? Don’t go. My family stopped going five years ago When we learned about the treatment of the animals there. If people don’t pay to go Then they can’t keep the park open. Are you going to do your part? I ask of you. For the sake of the animals, That don’t have a voice. For the justice of these animals. I thirst. (Speaker 2013)

259 APPENDIX D

“Freestylin for Freedom” by Darius Mirshahi from Test their Logik

Alright yo. Everyone make some noise for [Anonymous A], though. He’s actually, like, bringing everyone out here And actually going across across so many different communities and getting support from everyone. I think its so fucking beautiful That we got so many people here. Sorry for my language I forgot. I’m going to try and keep it family friendly and clean. I’m a rapper, though. Anyways. I think its really beautiful how many people with a passion are here To shut down this horrible place here. There are so many different reasons to do it. John Holer is treating animals horribly People horribly. He is acting like an autocrat He’s definitely someone that needs to be put in check And also just taken down. So that’s happening. That’s happening. Anyways. So I am going to start with piece called “land is freedom” and actually I didn't really know about it till I came here but I just found out that a few years ago, 47 families were evicted because of john holer because he just thought he could just move people off the land. These are people who just had trailer parks here And he bought the land And he said he was going to keep it a trailer park, And then he evicted everybody. That’s something that is really important to take note of Because people are getting evicted all over the world. Because people with money

260 Are buying up the land And pushing people off the land. So this one is going out to people And to animals And to all live that is really struggling with this land thing. Because if land is turned into property We all suffer. Check it out:

Property is theft That’s a concept you should get When you’re dropping most your check On a spot to rest your head. Little to see the bread To pay your mortgage and your debt. So the bankers and the feds don’t get your home repossessed. It’s on stolen land. It used to be the commons. Before the colonizers came And started all the problems. Started pillaging and robbing. The evil side is squatting. The show is not stopping. They conquering the oxygen Offsetting the carbon. Borders in the water Patrolling, coast guarding. Murdering and bombing Keep the urban sprawling. More people starving Less people farming. Got a giant green goblin called Monsanto. Makin’ mad money microcroppin’ Those places of population Creatin migration problems. Just bondin’ by buildin’ prisons Border wars don't stop them So I’m swinging sledge hammers Till every wall is droppin’. Land is freedom

261 Property is theft. Burn all the flags Until none of them are left. Land is living. Property is death. Take back the land Fight to the last breath. They conquered the world Till there was nothing left. Land is freedom. Property is theft Gotta slave all day For a place to rest. Land is freedom. Property is theft.

So that goes out to 47 families John Holder evicted, just on some power trip. 47 families, the last one that was there one eviction day committed suicide. Know it, he is a murderer. Not just, uh, not just of animals. He is a murderer of animals, of humans, of the land. (Mirshahi 2013)

262 APPENDIX E

Liberation of All Being by Darius Mirshahi

Liberate the animals And the earth too Free the trees Free the roots Free the leaves Free the fruits. Liberate the earth And the animals too. Free the farm Free the land Free them from Marineland, too Liberate the earth And the animals too Free the trees Free the roots Free the leaves Free the fruits. Liberate the earth And the animals too. Free the farm Free the land Free Marineland too. ELF, ALF They never caused a death. To save lives They take a lot of risks Liberation of all creation Is their politics. But somehow They are the terror that tops the list? Come on. Who’s really the terrorists? The slaughterhouse arsonists Or the slaughterhouse architects? Would it be terror to burn down Auschwitz? Nah. The answer should be obvious.

263 You gotta give props to the ALF To SHAC Smash HLS And those that invest No torture, no test. No one is free While others are oppressed. Fight for freedom Until there’s no cages left.

264 APPENDIX F

Bless the Grass by Darius Mirshahi

This one is off the new album. It’s called Bless the Grass. We are standing on grass, enjoying the grass, sitting on grass right now. I got love for the animals, love for the people, love for the plants and the earth. The one thing I find really inspiring, and people overlook it all the time. It’s that grass, you know, growing through the cracks of the concrete in an urban jungle. The concrete jungle. You are walking down the street and you see grass coming through. It’s really inspiring, you know, because they try and kill everything and want to like turn it into property and parking lots. You know what I’m saying. Life is rebellious. Life comes back through the cracks. No matter how hard they try to kill it, they can’t kill. It That is a symbol of us, of movements. You know, you know what I’m saying. They try and destroy us and our movements. But they can’t. As much as they try and kill us, to silence us and pave us over, they can’t. It keeps coming back through the grass. So this one is going out to the grass.

We’re everywhere Hidden like the air That we breathe together. And we’re never scared. The conspiracy is real They are keeping it concealed The truth is a virus These lies will reveal. They paved over paradise But it’s gonna heal Leaking information is like Watering a field. Spreading the rebellion Harvesting the yield. The infinite potential of the weapons you wield. Take pickaxes to roads Free roads that say closed Nobody is illegal The people will roam. Capital is evil Freedom’s the goal.

265 It’s not where you’re from It’s where your gonna go. When the shit goes down Can we overgrow Overthrow this toxic overdose Open those files doors that keep those undisclosed Enough of the lies The truth is gonna blow The dead landscape with life living below Scratching at this prison Read to explode. Pull codes, roll roots, Spread those Plantin’ seeds in concrete Life revolts, re-grows till it shifts. And the paradigm and system is out of time. This whole time The system was out of line. Mass murder Everyday for the dollar sign. Then through the cracks Like the grass to the stone We climb.

We need to defend the animals that are captive, but we also need to defend the animals and the humans that are trying to be free. And the oil will definitely not let them be free. So we got some big problems.

So, we need to shut it down. Shut down Marineland! Shut it down. Shut it, shut it down! Shut it down, shut it down! Shut it down, shut it down! Shut it down, shut it down! Shut it down, shut it down! John Holer can leave town.

266 APPENDIX G

267 APPENDIX H

268 APPENDIX I

269 APPENDIX J

270 APPENDIX K

271 APPENDIX L

272 APPENDIX M

273 APPENDIX N

274 APPENDIX O

275 APPENDIX P

• A-B-X what do you say ------How many animals died today

Polluting the land, polluting the water ------Profiting off the animal slaughter Polluting our bodies, polluting the water ------Profiting off the animal slaughter

• A-B-X has blood on their hands ------A-B-X has blood on their hands

There’s no excuse - - - - for animal abuse There is no rest ------for animal abusers

• A-B-X shame on you ------A-B-X Shame on you

1 – 2 – 3 – 4 ------Open up the cargo doors 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 ------Free the animals… liberate

• You must, you must, you must understand - - - -The blood, the blood, the blood is on your hands

It’s your money ------Your fault Your greed ------Your fault Your contract ------Your fault Blood money ------Your fault

• No justice, no peace ------Until the animal are released

Vivisection is a lie ------How many animals have to die Vivisection is a trick ------They make money and we get sick

• Blood, Blood, Blood on your hands ------Blood, Blood, Blood on your hands

Innocent animals died today ------A-B-X is to blame Innocent animals suffered in pain ------A-B-X is to blame Innocent animals died in vain ------A-B-X is to blame So many dead and nothing gained - - - - - A-B-X is to blame

• For the animals we will fight - - - - - How do you sleep at night

We will never back down ------Until you stop the killing

• If you want to get some rest ------Cut your ties with animal tests

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