Eagles cleave the air,
Fish glide under the shallow water;
Under freezing skies a million creatures contend in freedom.
Brooding over this immensity,
I ask, on this boundless land
Who rules over man’s destiny?
Mao Zedong, “Changsha”
One of the more excruciatingly ironic tendencies of the apparently populist alt-right axis which has seized control from the United States and Hungary to the Philippines and Brazil is an eagerness to blame the world’s problems (in a rhetorical strategy one part Goebbels, one part Reagan, and one part Alex Jones) on the secret machinations of left-wing “globalists.” Of course, these regimes themselves share something of a globalist solidarity – in their political coordination, guided by Goldmann Sachs-banker-turned-alt-right-Machiavelli Steve Bannon; in their military apparatus, financed and often directly supplied by the United States; and in their economic infrastructure, streamlined austerity and privatization to enrich and expand American capital. Yanis Varoufakis, who perhaps leads the left in his appreciation for irony, dubs these movements the “Nationalist International.” Meanwhile, true left wing internationalism has virtually disappeared as a political force. The worldwide reach of neoliberalism and the free market, which puts the Global North’s working class in objective competition with low wage workers in Mexico and lower wage workers in southeast Asia, has shattered the boundaries set by the trade union movement and rendered proletarian collective action outrageously impractical. The workers of the world, with nowhere else to turn, scrambling fruitlessly back to the nation-state. Varoufakis, for all his sloganeering, failed to win even a single seat for his internationalist coalition, the Democracy in Europe Movement 2025 (DiEM25), in the European Parliament elections last May. To those accusing us of globalism, the left should respond wistfully, “We wish!”
The abject failure to realize Marx and Engels’s parting aspiration in the Communist Manifesto – “Working men of all countries, unite!” – did not emerge from a lack of wishing. Marx himself sat at the helm of the International Workingmen’s Association, which in 1871 consisted of eight million workers everywhere from Manhattan to Moscow. Though Marx’s personal feud with Russian anarchist Mikhail Bakunin shattered their organization, four more Worker’s Internationals (with diminishing returns) have since taken shape. The utter catastrophe of twentieth century socialism, however, has rendered such movements the filaments of a vague nostalgia. In the United States and Western Europe, the question of globalism on the left generally meets one of two responses: a commitment, especially in academic institutions, to the ideal of open borders, which though admirable and quite correct, is almost existentially divorced from mass mobilization or working class resistance; contrasted with an alarming defense of border policing as a form of wage protectionism, which finds supposed leftists in common cause with murderous despots, encapsulated in Angela Nagle, who recently wrote an astonishingly stupid and reactionary article (tellingly published in the right-wing journal American Affairs) that was nonetheless celebrated by popular socialists as illustrious as Slavoj Žižek.
Yet even as the left has lost its capacity to organize across boundaries or even contemplate how that organization might function, true revolutionaries press forward around the world without waiting for our organizing to catch up. With every passing month, in spite of the organized left’s impotence, another revolutionary crisis seems to emerge; in every country, the least powerful people in the world are stubbornly and spontaneously refusing their subjugation. Surveying the chaos of 2019, it seems impossible to deny a universal impulse to claim freedom and dignity regardless of national or cultural borders – though the international coalitions of the powerful are certainly dedicated to denying such impulses. The political project of left internationalism must lie in following these sites of resistance, in understanding their commonalities, and in weaving them together into a viable alternative to the reactionary and oppressive internationalism of global capitalism.
A profound illustration of this imperative unfolded this week as protestors were shot in the streets of two cities ten thousand miles apart – one in Hong Kong and four in Port-au-Prince. Both China and Haiti once experienced revolutions that transformed the horizon of the possible and provided respective bases for the truly emancipatory globalism of decolonization. Both China and Haiti (though for opposite reasons) have sacrificed the hard-won freedom of their peoples to the brutal globalism of capital. And both China and Haiti are well positioned to leap into a new globalism that could finally see the aspirational anthem of the First International realized: “The earth shall rise on new foundations: we have been naught, we shall be all!”
The violence that unfolded in Hong Kong this Tuesday was a culmination of protests that rocked the city for seventeen weeks, since Carrie Lam, the autonomous region’s Chief Executive, moved to force a bill into law allowing the extradition of political prisoners to the central Chinese government in Beijing. The protests, which at their peak included well over a million people, were sparked by immediate fears that the limited political autonomy would be undermined by Lam’s proposal; they have been sustained by deep-seated rage at the corrupt political and financial elite in Hong Kong, the most economically unequal city in the world. The Lausan Collective, an English-language publication by the protest movement, argues that Hong Kong has for decades acted as “a bridge between Western capital and the Chinese market,” and that since China acquired the formerly British-occupied city in 1997, the Hong Kong ultra-rich have profited tremendously as the geographic intersection of Chinese and American capitalisms, even if this meant allowing increasing political encroachment from Beijing into Hong Kong’s elected government. Fearing the possibility of execution if Chinese President Xi Jinping does take full control of the city, protestors have taken to wearing masks and cutting down “smart lampposts,” camera-equipped streetlights which could potentially host the facial recognition software developed by the Chinese government with help from American tech giant Amazon. Every facet of Hong Kong’s crisis is marked by the intersection and cooperation between supercharged global capitalism and Xi’s high-tech totalitarianism.
When on Tuesday a Hong Kong police officer shot 18-year-old Tsang Chi-kin at point blank range, it marked the first time since protestors began that riot police have fired live ammunition directly at protestors, a sudden escalation to the use of potentially deadly force. Tuesday was also China’s National Day, the seventieth anniversary of Mao Zedong and his peasant army’s victorious arrival in Beijing’s Tiananmen Square after having defeated both the Japanese invasion and the fascist Chiang Kai-shek in a twenty-year civil war. In Mao and Xi, we see clear evidence of Marx’s famous adage that history repeats itself, “first as tragedy, then as farce.” Xi, the farcical echo, seeks egotistically to redefine twenty-first century Communism with his “One Belt, One Road” initiative, but his plan to establish a connected global infrastructure of Chinese-funded projects offers little more than streamlined local corruption and a system of wealth expropriation that exhaustingly resembles run-of-the-mill neoliberal capitalism. Mao, the tragedy, was for the first time in history able to genuinely offer the possibility of agency to hundreds of millions, perhaps billions, of human beings struggling in the talons of colonialism and aristocracy – and yet he fatally sabotaged their emancipation in fear of losing his own political power.
It was Mao who came the closest in political history to establishing a true left-wing internationalism. In the tremendous body of philosophical work he produced (while actively coordinating a guerrilla war from the front lines), he was able to rectify Marx’s most fundamental errors. While Marx viewed the industrial proletariat, with their capacity to stop work, as the vanguard of a universal revolutionary movement, Mao understood that the industrial proletariat itself benefitted from the suppression of colonial subjects, and from here drew the radical conclusion that class struggle was far more complex and dynamic than the conventional antagonism between capital and labor, and revolution could emerge from any struggle: antagonisms could emerge anywhere, at any time, and could always be exploited as long as revolutionaries “devote every effort to funding its principal contradiction. Once this principal contradiction is grasped, all problems can be readily solved.” This meant that Marxism was no longer just the tool of first-world factory workers – to Mao, revolutionary subjectivity extended to peasants, to pre-modern subsistence farmers, and to the chaotic multitude of the unemployed Marx dismissed as the lumpenproletariat. Maoist parties sprang up across Africa, South Asia, and Latin America throughout the 1950s and 60s, and the revolutions they led shattered both the old empires of European colonizers and the effective empire of American capital. From India and Vietnam to Cuba and Burkina Faso to the Black Panthers in the United States, it was through the work of Mao that ancient relations of domination were pushed to the point of unraveling.
And then, just as his alternative seemed to offer a true challenge to both the teetering post-war capitalist order of the West and the stagnant bureaucratic socialism of the Soviet Union, Mao shattered his own political project and slaughtered tens of millions of his people in the process. After the failure of the 1958 Great Leap Forward triggered the worst famine in human history (a famine that could have been prevented had Mao’s subordinates not been too terrified of disappointing him to honestly report data), the Chairman feared political upheaval in his own country and launched a brutal purge he dubbed the Cultural Revolution. Paramilitary Red Guards began holding public executions in every Chinese town, and butchering any elements of society deemed critical of Maoism (so much for the centrality of a direct-democratic “mass line” Mao once celebrated). When this too failed to strengthen his position, Mao looked abroad for help – not from the Maoist internationalists attacking capitalism from the bottom up, but from the right-wing internationalism of capitalism itself. Mao opened relations with US President Richard Nixon (who was actively murdering Maoists from Cambodia to Chicago) in 1972. The wheels set in motion in their famous meeting (and by the rise of Mao’s pro-capitalist de facto successor, Deng Xiaoping) would soon make neoliberalism possible in both countries, as unregulated American capital engulfed unprotected Chinese manufacturing labor in a formula that would rewrite the rules of global capitalism. The collapse of the American industrial working class, explosive and turbulent rise of both American and Chinese financial elite, horrific conditions of industrialization in China, and neat globalization of the world economy were all simultaneous effects of US-Chinese economic cooperation. The admittedly catastrophic impact of “globalism” offers endless cannon-fodder to the anti-communism right, yet it represents the tragic collapse of the communist international horizon.
Returning to Hong Kong – the billowing tear gas, armored riot squads, facial-recognition crackdowns, and now use of deadly force that have reduced the city a frame of dystopian chaos are in fact moderate on the scale of Xi’s totalitarian ambition. It is thanks only to Hong Kong’s relatively independent press and moderately liberal legal system that word of the protests has spread around the world – in mainland China, which has perhaps the most effective governmental monopoly on information in the world (with the possible exception of North Korea), such discontent is disappeared before it even becomes visible. A far more disturbing atrocity is unfolding in the western province Xinjiang, where, with funding from western capitalists and technological support from Amazon and IBM, Xi has instituted a horrifically postmodern twist on the gulag archipelago – eleven million Uyghurs now live under the constant surveillance of sophisticated facial recognition software, while as many as one million have simply disappeared or been relocated to concentration camps. Yet Xi remains remarkably popular, both at home where he enjoys a (not entirely inaccurate) reputation as an anti-corruption and anti-poverty stalwart, and in the international arena, where 152 countries from Chile to Portugal to New Zealand have lined up to participate in his One Belt, One Road investment project. Ultimately, the reason Xi is able to avoid scrutiny is the same reason Mao (unlike the only two comparable mass murderers in human history, Hitler and Stalin) has never faced repudiation in his own country – both Xi and Mao retreated behind the immensely powerful shield of global capitalism.
Yet even that mighty aegis shows signs of cracking. As Mao noted in 1930, underground with his wife recently beheaded by fascists and only two thousand troops at his command, “a single spark can start a prairie fire.” It is remarkable that in fourteen weeks of protest, the Beijing-backed Hong Kong police never once resorted to deadly force until last Tuesday – it does not imply a humane restraint on behalf of the police, but a deep terror that sympathy with the protestors (already a million strong!) could expand rapidly outside of the parameters of control. If one million people can grind business to a halt in Asia’s financial capital, what is possible in the brutalized factory cities across the Chinese interior? What is possible across the global periphery, where structures of power in China and in our own country extract the vast bulk of wealth and resources through the mechanisms of neoliberalism?
The violence in Haiti this week was far deadlier than that in Hong Kong – the four casualties on Tuesday in Port-au-Prince, like the student shot in Hong Kong, were also part of a long-running and largely spontaneous protest movement against the local agents of global capital. Protestors have rallied in Hong Kong for seventeen weeks, Haiti has been raked by regular protests for fourteen months. They began in July 2018, when the Haitian President Jovenal Moïse, at the urging of the Trump administration, severed ties with the Venezuelan government’s multi-billion-dollar Petrocaribe fuel relief program. Gas prices soared, wages plummeted, and the Haitian economy collapsed. Moïs exacerbated the crisis in March, when five heavily-armed American citizens (two former Navy SEALS and a contractor with Trump advisor Eric Prince’s mercenary corporation, Blackwater) were arrested in Port-au-Prince trying to transfer $80 million from the government’s already-thin oil fund to the President’s personal bank account. Since then, Moïse has lost the confidence of Parliament and faced ever-escalating protests, but has clung to power thanks to his close relationship with the US-backed Haitian military.
The chaos of recent weeks in Port-au-Prince truly beggars belief, though (as is so often the case with the abuses of our client states, especially when the victims have black skin) American media has barely taken note. On September 23, as the Haitian Parliament met in an unsuccessful attempt to confirm a Prime Minister, protestors massed outside of the capitol, blocking cars and chanting “thief, thief, theif!” Jean Marie Ralph Féthière, a Senator from the President’s right-wing Tèt Kale Party, responded by getting out of his car, drawing a pistol, and firing six bullets into the crowd, then calmly driving away. He wounded two people: a security guard named Leon Leblanc and an Associated Press photojournalist named Chery Dieu-Nalio. A protestor filmed the entire interaction, and the footage is astonishing. Féthière, whose claim he gave the protestors fair warning is contradicted by the video (and rather irrelevant to the charge of attempted murder, anyway), has yet to be prosecuted or admonished in any way. Since then, the street resistance has gained a new vigor. Unlike the riot squads of Hong Kong, the Haitian military police has used no restraint when it comes to the use of deadly force – since Féthière started shooting, police have gunned down a dozen protestors, including four this week.
Cash-lugging mercenaries and gun-slinging senators are cinematically shocking, but in Haiti they point to the rule, not the exception. Moïs and his political mentor and predecessor, Michel Martelly, represent a movement of upper-class conservative nostalgia for the strongman rule of François (“Papa Doc”) and Jean-Claude (“Baby Doc”) Duvalier, the father-son dynasty who ruled Haiti with CIA support for thirty years. The Duvaliers demanded religious cult worship from the poor and spent lavishly with the rich, and their death squads murdered tens of thousands of dissenters and peasants before a popular revolt in 1986 pushed the Reagan administration to airlift “Baby Doc” with an embezzled $120 million to a French retirement villa. In February 1991, the socialist priest and longtime opposition leader Jean-Bertrand Aristide became Haiti’s first democratically elected President, but by September he had been expelled from the country by former officers in the Duvalier military – the great Allan Nairn has reported on the connections between pro-coup paramilitary groups and the CIA, long denied by Congress. Aristide returned to power in 1994 and governed with immense popularity, instituting the country’s first and only anti-poverty programs and disbanding the military, but his rule was checkered by open insurgency from CIA-aligned militias. In 2004, US special forces kidnapped Aristide from his home and forced him into exile – even the Bush administration could not deny orchestrating the coup, though Secretary of State Colin Powell insisted “He went on the airplane willingly, and that’s the truth!”
The Republic of Haiti enjoys the unfortunate distinction of being the oldest neighbor of the United States, and the site of virtually ceaseless violent incursion by American empire. Almost immediately after his exile, Aristide observed,
if I look at the picture, which is horrible, I can think once you want to invest in education, in health care, those who want to invest in killing democracy, in bloodshed, they don’t accept you as an elected president. We had 32 coup d’états, plus the last one, 33, in our 200 years of independence. Our goal was to move not from coup d’état to coup d’état anymore, but from elections to elections. Free, fair and democratic elections. That wasn’t their goal. They went back to coup d’état.
The mere fact that Haiti remains such a site of contestation reveals an intriguing anxiety. Three centuries of toxic monocrop farming under Spanish, English, and French rule have devastated the nation’s agricultural output; another century and a half of reparation payments to France (to compensate the colonizers for the value of emancipated slaves) has collapsed the Haitian economy and made it the poorest country in the hemisphere – unlike Brazil or Iraq, Haiti at first glance has very little for capital to expropriate. Still, the United States has tremendous resources into crushing Haitian attempts at self governance for centuries: before Bush’s coup in 2004 or Obama’s election tampering in 2012 to force neoliberal reforms after a catastrophic earthquake, before the Duvaliers and their brutalities, before US Marines invaded Haiti in 1915 and remained in control of the country, executing thousands of organized workers, for nineteen years, Haiti was the site of the first American efforts to collapse another nation’s democracy. As the first Secretary of State in 1791, Thomas Jefferson (who was so enamored of freedom fighters in France) recoiled in horror at the massive slave revolts across the colony and sent shipments of weapons in an attempt to preserve the control of French plantation owners. Despite his best efforts – and the coordinated efforts of the British, French, and Spanish empires – the men and women led by Toussaint L’Ouverture (who he called brothers and sisters) incredibly succeeded in becoming the first world’s (and only) nation of people who emancipated themselves from chattel slavery.
Jefferson’s private letters (more frank than his public soliloquies) leave us with a valuable insight: writing to then-Virginia Senator James Monroe, he lamented, “I become more and more convinced that all the West India Island will remain in the hands of people of colour, and a total expulsion of the whites sooner or later take place. It is high time we should foresee the bloody scenes which our children certainly, and possibly ourselves (south of the Potomac), have to wade through.”
Haiti was the first colony established by Christopher Columbus. When the Admiral arrived there, imagining huge fields of gold, he forced the native population to work in mines and tortured those who did not meet his quotas – after two years, “through murder, mutilation, or suicide, half of the 250,000 Indians on Haiti were dead.” Haiti is the starting point of global capital – the wealth squeezed from its soil was the prerequisite for the advent of capitalism in Europe. Yet the human beings dragged in bondage across the Atlantic to replace the exterminated Taínos embodied the final contradiction in capitalism’s totalizing logic: in refusing their fate as people reduced to property, they exposed the lie in property itself, in any arbitrary claim to value wrestled out of the commons into private coffers. In her writings on the Haitian Revolution, Susan Buck-Morss points out that “the slave is the one commodity like no other, as freedom of property and freedom of person are here in direct contradiction.” This is the point C. L. R. James makes with the incredible first chapter of his classic work, The Black Jacobins, in which he describes in detail the horrors of slavery: the chapter’s title is “The Property.” In risking their lives again and again through decades armed struggle in defense of their right to not be owned, the Haitian people were pitting their existence against the very right to own. In his desperation to “confine this disease to its island,” Jefferson was admitting his fear of their universal appeal – no wonder so much effort has spent collapsing the Haitian experiment; the entire structure of capitalism around the globe, based on the owner’s prerogative to extract value, depends on that experiment’s failure. When Simón Bolívar followed the Haitian example, Spain lost South America; when Mao followed it, capital momentarily lost the Global South. Just as capitalism was born, Haiti proved that it would always be eaten away by those it consumed.
It is the spontaneous courage of hundreds of thousands of slaves who suddenly refused to work that boils on in the streets of Port-au-Prince and Hong Kong to this day. After six students critical of Xi Jinping disappeared from their universities in China this spring, a “May Fourth Manifesto” briefly circulated the Chinese internet before vanishing as well – its writers quoted Mao’s warning, “where there is oppression, there will be resistance.” Always true, their statement has never has never had more evidence than today.
But how does the drive to resist possession, a drive that sprawls effortlessly across the petty borders of those who presume to own, translate into a political project? How can the undeniable urge toward freedom of the underclasses pushed to desperation in every nation become an international movement, not just with passion but with the strength necessary to undermine a mercilessly practical international foe? Mao points out, rightly, in his critique of Stalin, that communism will not simply emerge from the contradictions in capitalism: “Communism can not be reached unless there is a communist movement,” and though today there are many competing struggles for freedom, a unifying vision of communist internationalism is undeniably not one. Yet in organizing a movement strong enough to build the future we need and deserve, how can we avoid the pitfalls of previous attempts, include Mao’s own – how can we prevent the birth of a new power elite in those who guide us out of power’s clutches?
If I knew the answers I would have no need to write them down, I could simply will justice into being. But I can offer an observation. Mao’s expansion of revolutionary subjectivity can not be thrown out with the bathwater, and present-day protest movements would have much to gain and little to lose by adopting his concept of a self-invigorating mass line, his existential flexibility, and his emphasis on a global class struggle underlying every other struggle. However, the plethora of mid-century Maoist movements have by now categorically failed (with the lone exception of the heroic and tragically underrated Nepalese Communist Party). Meanwhile, the most vibrant and successful attempts to create a new and properly global society since the fall of the Cold War have emerged from two separate but linked political strains. First, the democratic socialism of the Latin American Pink Tide, which at its most radical embraced local governance by communes in Venezuela (and, to a lesser extent, Bolivia) while also linking together in regional solidarity powerful enough to substantially resist imperialism. Second, the surprisingly prosperous anarchist communes established through armed struggle in southern Mexico (the Zapatistas) and in Kurdish Syria (the YPG). The days of the benevolent Party vanguard seem decisively to have passed, the demand for unmediated direct democracy rises on the horizon.
Why not embrace the passing? What if the moment has finally arrived, so long awaited by Mao and Robespierre before him, when we can actually “trust the people”? Silvia Federici writes, “a global perspective on anarchism is essential, for it shows that internationally this process is already under way, though not under the insignia of a red and black flag.” Why not shape our International not as a central committee or a paper alliance, but a lattice of resistances drawing inspiration and courage from one another?
If the global political impulse of the present is the impulse for freedom in all its chaos, the left should follow – is that not the true meaning of a “mass line,” anyway?
 If you are in search of a good scare, see Bannon describing his revelation upon seeing the Aushwitz-Birkenau extermination center: “My God, humans can actually do this!” in the remarkable new documentary The Brink, dir. Alison Klayman (New York: Magnolia Pictures, 2019).
 Yanis Varoufakis, “Our new international movement will fight rising fascists and globalists,” Guardian, September 13, 2018.
 Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, “Manifesto of the Communist Party,” in The Marx-Engels Reader, ed. Robert Tucker (New York: Norton and Company, 1978), 500.
 Angela Nagle, “The Left Case against Open Borders,” American Affairs 2, no. 4 (2018).
 From the “Internationale,” written in 1871 with lyrics by Eugène Pottier. This verse comes from the 1916 American translation by Charles Hope Kerr, in The Little Red Songbook: Songs To Fan The Flames of Discontent (Ypsilanti, Michigan: Industrial Workers of the World, 1995). Ironically, the Internationale is the de facto anthem of the Chinese Communist Party.
 An article in the Times recently pointed out that the average Hong Kong apartment is only seven square feet larger than a New York parking space, and that the median is closer to a third of that space. Alexandra Stevenson and Jin Wu, “Tiny Apartments and Punishing Work Hours: The Economic Roots of Hong Kong’s Protests,” New York Times, July 22, 2019.
 J. S. Chen, “Between Washington and Beijing: An Interview With Lausan Collective,” Jacobin, September 21, 2019.
 Marx, “The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Napoleon,” in Surveys from Exile, ed. David Fernbach (New York: Verso, 2010), 146.
 Mao Zedong, “On Contradiction,” in On Practice and Contradiction, ed. Slavoj Žižek (New York: Verso, 2007), 87.
 For more, see David Harvey, A Brief History of Neoliberalism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005).
 See the reporting of Simina Mistreanu, “Life Inside China’s Social Credit Laboratory,” Foreign Policy, April 3, 2018. Among the financiers of this immense violation of human rights is Joe Biden’s son, Hunter, which seems like a much more troubling (and less strained) instance of criminal corruption than his time laundering the reputation of a Ukrainian embezzler.
 Mao, “A Single Spark Can Start A Prairie Fire,” in On Practice and Contradiction, 31.
 Matthew Cole and Kim Ives, “US Mercenaries Arrested in Haiti Were Part of a Half-Baked Scheme To Move $80 Million for Embattled President,” Intercept, March 20, 2019.
 See Ruaridh Nicoll, “Haiti: photojournalist shot in face as senator opens fire outside parliament,” Guardian, September 23, 2019.
 See the Human Rights Watch report, “Haiti’s Rendezvous With History: The Case of Jean-Claude Duvalier,” Human Rights Watch, April 14, 2011.
 Allan Nairn, “Haiti Under The Gun,” Nation, January 8, 1994.
 Powell quoted in a CNN segment, “Aristide says US deposed him in ‘coup d’état’,” CNN, March 2, 2004.
 Interview with Amy Goodman, “President Aristide In His Own Words: DN!’s Exclusive Interview, Pt. 1,” Democracy Now!, March 16, 2004.
 James North, “Why Haitians Are Chanting ‘Down With Obama,” Nation, January 27, 2016.
 Thomas Jefferson, Papers of Thomas Jefferson, vol. 26, ed. John Catanzariti (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998), 503.
 Howard Zinn, A People’s History of the United States (New York: Harper Collins, 1999), 5.
 Susan Buck-Morss, Hegel, Haiti, and Universal History (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2009), 53n90.
 C. L. R. James, The Black Jacobins (New York: Vintage Books, 1989), 6-27.
 Young Pioneers, “A May Fourth Manifesto,” New Left Review 116/117 (2019), 72.
 Mao, “Critique of Stalin’s Economic Problems of Socialism in the USSR,” in On Practice and Contradiction, 118.
 Silvia Federici, “Global Anarchism: Provocations,” in No Gods, No Masters, No Peripheries, ed. Barry Maxwell and Raymond Craib (Oakland: PM Press, 2015), 355.