Confessions of an anarchist

The Anarchist is nothing if not unconventional. At his “conferences” chairmen, voting on resolutions, and the other necessary conditions for the preservation of order, are altogether dispensed with, as savouring of the “authority” he so much detests, with, of course, the consequence that order is conspicuous by its absence, and, more often than not, the “conference” ends up in a free fight between the various factions present.

My first experience at an Anarchist conference was as follows:—An announcement had appeared in the Commonweal to the effect that a conference of London and provincial Anarchists would be held on a certain date at a notorious rendezvous of the cult off Tottenham Court Road, to which “all comrades were invited.” I decided to accept the invitation and be present at their deliberations. The subject down for the “comrades’” discussion was “The Right of Individual Expropriation,” or, in plain English, “The Right to Thieve.” Presenting myself to time at the place of meeting, and finding the door ajar, I walked in, and found myself in a narrow passage which led into a small hall, where I took a seat among the other “companions” assembled.

Right here let me explain that, contrary to general belief, among Anarchists, the various paraphernalia of Freemasonry—signs, passwords, etc.—are altogether dispensed with, being contrary to Anarchist “principles,” which allow of no form of authority or organisation whatsoever. No credentials are required, for the Anarchist does not admit the possibility of one person representing anyone but himself. Secretarial work, according to the Anarchist theory, is done by anyone who feels that way inclined; and if volunteers are not forthcoming the work remains undone.

But to resume my story. Once inside the hall, a spectacle greeted my sight I shall not soon forget. Seated about in confusion were a number of evil-looking men and women of almost every nationality—shouting, stamping, and gesticulating. On the walls, in gorgeous red, were painted a number of Anarchistic mottoes in German, and at the end of the hall a small stage was erected, on the facia of which, in bold English, appeared the legend—“Anarchy is Order.” Among the distinguished personages present I noticed Louise Michel, E. Malatesta, and several Continental Anarchists who later ended their careers on the gallows or under the guillotine.

An hour beyond the advertised time had passed, and there were no signs of the seance commencing. Suddenly, one of the “comrades” was heard shrieking for order, which, after great trouble, was obtained. A “comrade” of unmistakably Jewish countenance rose and addressed the meeting. His sentiments were nothing more or less than incitements to all kinds of crime. “Pillage and murder the rich,” he shrieked. That was the sentiment of the whole meeting. Space will not allow of my reproducing any of the speeches, which were revolting in the extreme. Suffice it to say that the speakers declaimed hotly anent the injustice of everything in general, and the necessity for the “removal” of monarchs and all in authority, who, they claimed, were responsible for the ills of the world. One speaker held up Ravachol, the Anarchist scoundrel who lived by thieving, coining, and forgery, and who ended under the guillotine for brutally murdering an old man in order to get his money, as a “hero” worth copying. “We want some English Ravachols,” he shrieked. These sentiments, however, roused the ire of the more peaceably inclined, who are known as “Christian Anarchists,” and more potent arguments than words were the outcome of the debate.

During the progress of the conference a thick bordered mourning card was distributed among those assembled—

“IN LOVING MEMORY
of
MARTIAL BOURDIN;
who was killed by the bursting of a bomb
in Greenwich Park.”

and containing the following piece of alleged poetry:—

At this conference it was proposed to burn monarchs, lawyers, and persons in authority in effigy, as a means of calling attention to the Anarchist propaganda. A discussion arose as to the advisability of a “No Rent” campaign. One “comrade” formulated a plan of occupying model dwellings, and a French “comrade” told how they worked the “Anti-Broker Brigade” in Paris. There, he said, whenever a comrade is in trouble with his landlord, six or seven Anarchists go to his house in a body and carry off the furniture. This, he explained, would be easy work in England, as in Paris every house has a porter, who usually tries to interfere with the departure of the household goods, and has to be knocked down before he will be quiet—while in London this is not the case. He concluded by saying: “Persevere with this propaganda, comrades; there is none better.”

Then an ex-editor of Le Père Peinard, who had escaped from France to avoid imprisonment, urged the claims of “Expropriation” (Anarchist jargon for stealing). He pressed the “comrades” to do their utmost to persuade the people to seize upon the wealth of the capitalists on every possible occasion; and, after some discussion it was agreed that the “principle” was good, and that we should preach and practise it whenever possible.

The conference was brought to a close by the singing of revolutionary songs, one of which extolled the virtues of “Petroleum” as the “stuff which makes the bourgeois fly!” and concluding with the terrible “Carmagnole,” the last verse of which goes as follows:—