"Fearlessness in those without power is maddening to those who have it."

02/15/07

"I want to talk a bit about fearlessness. While leafing through an old journal recently, I came across the line above, which I'd copied from Tobias Wolff's memoir, This Boy's Life, when I read it several years ago. In the book, this statement refers to interpersonal relationships, but I think it even more applicable to political struggle.

Since I have been in prison, I have received an uninterrupted stream of letters, from across the country and around the world, proclaiming me a "hero," applauding my "bravery," praising my "commitment" and my "courage," expressing "admiration," and commending my "sacrifice." I can only assume that my co-defendants have been lauded equally.

Common to nearly all of these compliments seems to be the implication that these qualities are somehow more pronounced, and more plentiful, within me than within the letter writer him/herself as well as the belief -- generally although not always unstated -- that the writer could "never do what [I] have done." The difference so many people see between the SHAC7 and themselves is striking.

I first became involved in activism at the beginning of my freshman year of college, in the Fall of 1997. I did not grow up in a politically active family and the extent of my "activist" experience at that point had been writing letters on behalf of political prisoners as part of my high school chapter of Amnesty International. I don't know that I'd ever even seen a protest in real life at the time I joined NYU's animal rights group. I remember distinctly one of the first protests I ever attended.

It was at Zamir furs on Houston Street in New York. There were about a dozen of us there, and everyone marched in a circle, holding signs and chanting -- everyone, that is, except me. I held a sign and I marched around with the group, but I stayed silent. I was shocked to see these people basically screaming their heads off in the middle of the sidewalk. "I'll hold a sign," I thought, "I'll march with them, but I'm not going to jail with them when the cops arrest them for screaming" -- which I thought for sure was not allowed.

Needless to say, no one was arrested that day, and certainly not for chanting. The pendulum of my understanding of permissions and protections under the law has long since swung the other way and my ignorance at those early protests now makes me chuckle. But, back in the Fall of 1997, it frightened me into silence.

But I came back the next week. And the week after that. And before long I was the familiar voice many of you have heard ringing through the megaphone.

At the same time, in the late 90s, acts of civil disobedience were ubiquitous throughout the grassroots movement and everyone, it seemed, had a dozen or so arrests under their belts. To me, the notion of getting arrested was so incredibly foreign, I thought for sure it was something I would never be willing to risk, much less do voluntarily. Arrest was part of a world so completely separate from my own; in my mind it equalled conviction, spoiled my bright future, and ensured I'd never be hired anywhere. Again, my naivete, in retrospect, is rather quaint and amusing. But even then, in spite of it, I didn't turn away.

Before long, I was invited to participate in civil disobedience myself. It was an intimidating proposition. Everyone around me seemed so willing to lock themselves to things, blockade doors, and sit in at the drop of a hat. I invariably declined, blaming school work or other obligations for my unavailability for arrest. In truth, I declined because I was scared.

You won't find me in old photos of blockades, banner hangs, or sit-ins. But I was there. Though I didn't participate in civil disobedience for a long while, I always attended the accompanying support demonstrations. I spoke to media and liaised between between protesters and police. I followed the arrestees to the police precinct and I attended every one of their subsequent court dates.

The point of this trip down memory lane is to show, in stark contrast to one another, the person I was when I walked into the world of activism and the person so many seem to see now. Most important in this comparison is the process of transformation between the two.

There is no fundamental fearlessness in my nature. There is only the recognition that so much fear is born out of ignorance. I do not walk straight into something of which I am afraid. Rather, I put a toe in to test the waters. I sit and watch for a bit, and explore the surrounding area. By the time I jump in, there are few surprises. Certain I'd be arrested for chanting, I attended protests quietly. That didn't last long. Fearful of arrest itself, I immersed myself in the experience up to the point of actually risking it myself. When I finally did get arrested for civil disobedience, complete with the big, bad, life-altering charges of disorderly conduct and resisting arrest, the officer told me, "you know you'll never get a job now." I laughed as he assumed and attempted to prey upon my ignorance, and do so even now. Since that time, I have rarely not been hired for a position for which I applied.

When a lawsuit was dropped on my doorstep, listing my name under "Defendants," my stomach flipped. Shortly after, I decided to represent myself and I've had a ball with it ever since -- enjoying, rather than fearing, each new case or procedure as an opportunity to learn more. I have feared various other things about activism over the years and I can honestly say that, upon engaging them and understanding them, not one has proven scary in the end.

Fearlessness is not born by barrelling forward ignoring fear or carelessly, indiscriminately throwing caution to the wind. So many people have found themselves in over their heads having done this -- caving in the face of arrest, jail, or civil litigation that they don't understand. All of these things are generally scary when you know little of them and barely so when they are familiar. Those who get themselves into such situations without a realistic understanding of them will likely fall prey to unwarranted fear, doing more harm than good by validating the effectiveness of harassment by way of lawsuit, grand jury, or arrest, and perpetuating more of the same.

Rather, fearlessness comes from standing firm in the face of fear, not backing down but meeting it head on -- mastering it by understanding that which you fear. Fearlessness is not a willingness to participate even though you are afraid; it is a true eradication of fear through knowledge.

As I argued in my editorial in the most recent Close HLS Newsletter, the best weapon animal abusers and their hired government guns have in their efforts to stifle advocacy and incapacitate action is the perpetuation of perceived grave consequences of engaging in either. The mere spectre of prosecution or litigation can sweep broadly, crippling whole movements with irrational fear. And the use of fear is exponentially more efficient than actually suing or prosecuting an entire movement. We do so much of the work ourselves by spreading fear without stopping to see whether it is warranted. The resulting impotency affects those who would not otherwise become subjects of civil litigation or criminal prosecution -- multitudes are silenced and those who have committed no crime, perpetrated no tort, and are likely not even on the radar of our opposition cease their activity.

The movement's strongest protection against the weapon of fear is knowledge, and we should spend our energy spreading it rather than industry and government generated fear. What is the likelihood that I will be sued? Arrested? Convicted? What is the realistic worst case scenario of losing a case? Being held in contempt? Being imprisoned? What will happen? What is it like? What are the chances I will lose? And are any one of these things all that bad? The answers for most everyone, I expect, is that they will never see a jail cell, never face a civil trial, and never experience most of the potentialities threatened as though the worst case were the only case. (And for those who do, I can tell you from experience, it ain't all that bad.) Let us frustrate our opponent's fear mongering by learning ourselves out of the fear upon which it preys.

I hope that animal abusers are maddened by the fact that my heart rate did not quicken when I was arrested by the FBI, guns in my face. They may be maddened that the only emotion I felt upon first reading the SHAC7 indictment was relief -- "this is the government's articulation of unprotected speech?!?!" Perhaps it was maddening that I was not fearful enough of conviction to take a deal and plead guilty, or that I haven't regretted my refusal once. They may be maddened that I did not fear prison and that I can now attest that my fearlessness was warranted in this respect. I do not fear that we will lose our appeal nor do I fear what my life will be if we do. Most of all, I hope that animal abusers are maddened that I am not afraid to continue speaking out and that you all won't be afraid to do so either."