View From a Window
“The grim realities of the capitalist system could not be clearer right now in the United States. The sudden disappearance of labor has caused the entire economy to go into crisis overnight, for one simple reason that should have been obvious all along: all value comes from labor.”
Photo by Zachary Nelson.
The Desolate City
I have been outside exactly three times in the past seventeen days, and I don’t expect to walk out the front door of my apartment again for another nine days. I won’t have any choice at that point because I will be out of food, but as much as I miss the fresh air and sunlight I’m not exactly looking forward to it. The city doesn’t feel safe or friendly now. When people see you on the street, they move well out of their way to avoid you – and you do the same, not wanting to get close enough to anyone else to risk catching the virus that has the world imprisoned.
My apartment is a studio, so that means I’ve been living my entire life inside a single room except for those three brief trips outside. There isn’t anyone else in here with me – I haven’t seen my kids since all this started, although I talk to them every day. Seventeen days ago I dropped them off with their mother, went to the grocery store, and was shocked when it took me ten minutes to find a shopping cart because there were so many people there. When I got in line at the cash register, the line stretched all the way into the aisle and then curved around. I paid for my groceries eventually and headed home, on the same day that the schools closed.
Later that night, I developed a minor cough. I didn’t think I had the virus because I had no other symptoms, but I decided to stay indoors for seven days to be on the safe side and avoid infecting anyone else. The cough never got worse and I never ran a fever, and seven days later I was feeling better. So I went outside, intending to sit in the sunlight somewhere and just enjoy the approaching spring.
It didn’t feel anything like what I’d been imagining. In my imagination, this was going to be such a calm and relaxing experience, with the sun on my face and the breeze in my hair and the little birds hopping around in the park in front of me. When I left my front door, I quickly realized how much work it was going to be to avoid getting too close to anyone. I moved through the downtown streets as if I was infiltrating them, veering away from any human contact. When I finally sat down in the park on a white plastic chair, the world felt empty and desolate. I sat there for a while, trying to capture a feeling that just wasn’t there. When I got home an hour later, I told myself I wouldn’t go outside again until I had no choice. It didn’t work out that way.
Mutual Aid
In my first week inside my house, I had to help make a decision with the other members of my martial arts club. The state was telling people to avoid large groups, but none of our classes had enough students to qualify as a large group. Should we cancel classes until the crisis passed, or should we keep meeting?
The club makes decisions democratically, and the decision we came to was to cancel classes if schools were closed. At the time, it still seemed plausible that this could just be two weeks or so. Most members of the club are either anarchists or communists, so we were all familiar with the concept of mutual aid. We decided to stay in touch on a daily basis until the crisis passed, and to function as a mutual aid network. If one of us got sick and had to be quarantined, the others would coordinate together to bring them groceries or any other supplies they needed. This could easily be done without direct contact, by simply leaving the supplies in front of the quarantined member’s door.
I also reached out to a few people I don’t train with to offer them the same type of assistance if they ended up needing it. However, the next time I had to leave my house was for a person who wasn’t in my network. This was an old comrade from Occupy, someone I hadn’t seen in eight years. They had COVID-19 and were quarantined at home, and they posted on social media that they were running out of groceries. I contacted them by private message and offered to bring them what they needed, and so I was out on the streets again just a day after my first trip outside.
Things were already stranger than the day before. The city buses were still running, but they were almost totally empty. Each one had a sign in front that just read STAY HOME. On the street in front of my building, I ran into a woman who was sobbing and talking about what a bad person she was. I gave her five dollars so she could get some take-out, and she got so excited about it that she ran over and hugged me. So much for keeping a six-foot distance from other people!
I got the groceries my comrade needed, but bus service had been cut deeply and I didn’t want to wait a long time for the next one under the circumstances. I got a Lyft instead, left the groceries in front of my comrade’s door, and returned home. By the time I was back in my apartment, I didn’t want to leave again for any reason – although I knew that I would do it again if someone needed help. Then the state announced a two-week lockdown – no one could leave their home unless they had no choice.
Locked-Down
Under the rules of the lock-down, we were still allowed to leave our homes if we worked at an essential job or if we needed groceries. Even so, I thought it was far better if I spent the entire time inside. Unfortunately, that meant that I had to go back to the grocery store for a few items. That was my third trip out of the house – to pick up the last few things I needed to stay in my room for the next two weeks. It turned out to be a bit harder than I had anticipated. The grocery store had no toilet paper, no eggs, and no hand soap.
I couldn’t get any quarters, so I wouldn’t be able to use the laundry room in my apartment building. That meant I had to make four outfits last for fourteen days, or else I had to wash clothes by hand in my bathtub.
Even so, I had most of what I needed and I could make do with what I had. I went into lock-down, and have now been inside for seven straight days. By the time anyone reads this, it will have been fourteen days.
In my time locked inside, I’ve been starting every day with an extended reading session over breakfast and coffee. Right now I’m reading Anarchy Works by Peter Gelderloos, and an apocalyptic science fiction novel. After I’m done with my coffee, I pray to the goddesses Brighid and Macha, and to the nine elements of Irish tradition: heaven, the sun, the moon, fire, lightning, wind, the sea, the earth, and rock. I try to call up their qualities within myself: strength, light, radiance, splendor, speed, swiftness, depth, stability, and firmness. These are useful qualities to call upon under any circumstances, but I’m finding it easier to connect with the elements now. Vivid mental pictures fill my mind when I picture the light of the sun, or lightning forking rapidly across the sky.
I meditate for a little while, then I practice martial arts for about half an hour. Then I start to work – I work from home as a freelance writer, so my work schedule so far has not been affected by the crisis. This is in contrast with my many friends who have been laid off, and have no way to pay rent without the promised stimulus check. It’s also in contrast with my other friends who work essential jobs, and must risk their lives every single day for less than $15 an hour.
When I finish work for the day, I make my dinner and watch a show while I eat it. After dinner, I go to work again, but this time on my own writing instead of work performed for clients. Around seven I call my girls, and do everything I can to calm their fears – to ensure them that they aren’t in terrible danger, but that they do need to stay at home to protect others. To ensure them that this is temporary, that they will see their friends again when all this is over. Whenever that might be.
Around eight I play a video game, but only for a half-hour or so. Around nine I watch a movie, working my way through a massive watchlist. When the movie is over I go to bed – sometimes to sleep, and sometimes not. It depends on the day. Sometimes I lie awake, staring at the ceiling till two or three.
In this locked-down life, I have plenty to do. I’m still working full-time, and I have a lot of options for entertainment. The only nature in my life, though, is the sun shining through my window and sometimes the chatter of birds outside. The streets sound empty, although every once in a while someone does come walking by. Once it was a large man yelling, “KILL THEM ALL!” When someone told him to shut up, he switched to “WRATH IS COMING!”
Another time it was a man wearing a surgical mask. He wasn’t wearing it over his mouth, though. He was wearing it on his head, like a hat.
General Strike
As apocalypses go, I think it’s safe to say this is not the one I was anticipating. So far, I’m eating. There are no riots, no burning cars. The city sounds quiet, with the occasional exception. The truth is, I really have no idea what’s going on out there. My room is like an island, and I know a lot more about what’s going on at friend’s houses far away from here than I do about the life of my own city since I went inside.
I do know this, though. A lot of people aren’t working, and when people aren’t working they don’t pay rent. A $1200 check from the government won’t make it possible for everyone to pay, because rents are high and they still need groceries. As for the grocery stores, their shelves are looking bare.
This is by far the biggest crisis capitalism has faced in my lifetime. Our ability to live at all under capitalism is premised on work. Without the wages you earn working for an employer, you can’t have a roof over your head or food in your refrigerator. Most people in our society don’t ever think about it, but that means the entire system is based on a form of extortion – you either spend all your time making money for someone else, or you can neither sleep under a roof nor eat. You can’t see a doctor or pay for medicine. It’s literally “work or die” for the far majority of us.
The grim realities of the capitalist system could not be clearer right now in the United States. The sudden disappearance of labor has caused the entire economy to go into crisis overnight, for one simple reason that should have been obvious all along: all value comes from labor.
If the workers aren’t working, the capitalist system can no longer sustain itself. It didn’t even take a week for the cracks to show, or for the people at the top of the system to take the next, inhuman step: asking us to be willing to die for their profits by going back to work in the middle of a pandemic.
If the logic of mass human sacrifice does not appeal to us, our only other option is to face the truth. It’s time for this system to die… and we have the power to kill it. The capitalist system is stumbling around right now; powerful leaders are saying things that make the hidden cruelty of it all apparent to everyone. Even while they take the mask off and display the system’s basic lack of respect for life, they seem panicky and vulnerable. That’s because they are.
Many of us are stuck inside right now, and those who are not probably wish they were. But look at how much power we have – we go inside, and the capitalist system is suddenly looking weaker than it has in our entire life. All of this is happening because the virus is preventing many of us from working. With a general strike, we could create the exact same conditions ourselves. We could put an end to this, and then build a world that works for everyone. A world based on solidarity and mutual aid, not exploitative exchanges intended only to create profit.
A world of real relationships.
Christopher Scott Thompson
Photo by Tam Hutchison.
is an anarchist, martial arts instructor, devotee of Brighid and Macha, and a wandering exile roaming the earth.
