[News] Abolitionist Fantasies - Revisiting the Fictional 2020 of My Novel
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Thu Oct 22 16:13:41 EDT 2020
https://abolitionjournal.org/abolitionist-fantasies/
<https://abolitionjournal.org/abolitionist-fantasies/>
Abolitionist Fantasies: Revisiting the Fictional 2020 of My Novel
October 21, 2020 <https://abolitionjournal.org/abolitionist-fantasies/>
by abolitionjournal <https://abolitionjournal.org/author/eli/>
By: Diana Block
In mid-2020, my friend Nina Serrano, an author/poet/activist who hosts a
radio show about books, Cover-to-Cover
<https://kpfa.org/program/cover-to-cover-with-jack-foley-nina-serrano/> on
KPFA, asked me to do an update of an interview I did with her in 2015
about my novel, Clandestine Occupations – An Imaginary History
<https://www.pmpress.org/index.php?l=product_detail&p=738>. She wanted
me to comment on how the futuristic last chapter of my book, which was
set in 2020, compared with the unfolding, seemingly fictional reality.
I had been caught up, like most others, in the urgent demands of the
pandemic moment. For me that meant ramping up support for the people I
work with inside California women’s prisons. They, like other
incarcerated people, were trapped inside the most dangerous incubators
for the coronavirus without cleaning supplies, options to socially
distance, or visits from family and loved ones. Our collective demands
to immediately release elders and medically vulnerable people were being
ignored by Governor Newsom and other state officials under the guise of
protecting public safety, and the people in prison who tested positive
for COVID were being placed in an isolated, punitive version of
quarantine. I was constantly worried and enraged. I hadn’t remembered
that I had dared to imagine the liberatory possibilities of 2020 in my
novel. The radio interview with Nina didn’t happen for logistical
reasons, but Nina’s question pushed me to look back at what I had
invented and hold it up against a present that was exploding in multiple
dystopian and visionary directions.
My novel was rooted in stories from my own life, and those of many other
people whom I have been close to, about confrontations with the heavy
hand of the carceral state. Each character plays out fantasies of escape
– from the FBI, state informers, the courts, parole boards and prisons –
with mixed success, as they come to grips with the limits of real-life
circumstances. I set the last chapter in 2020 to suggest possibilities
which conceivably might be enacted within a foreseeable future. Besides,
the number 2020 embodied numerological balance and farsighted
metaphors, appropriate for the scenarios I wanted to create.
In my imaginary 2020, a clandestine hacktivist group (inspired by the
real group Anonymous
<https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2020/08/hacker-group-anonymous-returns/615058/> which
was particularly active between 2011-2015) hacks into the systems
controlling electronic monitoring “bracelets” in San Francisco and
renders them inoperable. People who had been forced to wear these
oppressive devices begin to cut their e-shackles off, inspiring a new
hashtag- *#breakthebracelet*– which then goes viral. The formerly
incarcerated people, newly liberated from their electronic confinement,
begin to gather in different community spaces to collectively defend
their newfound freedom and create sustainable ways of surviving
together. These community spaces are dubbed urban maroons , referencing
the history of escaped slaves who created maroon
<https://www.culturalsurvival.org/publications/cultural-survival-quarterly/maroons-americas-heroic-pasts-ambiguous-presents-uncertain> communities,
with a shout out to real-life political prisoner Russell ‘Maroon’ Shoatz
<https://russellmaroonshoats.wordpress.com/>, who had earned his middle
name after escaping from prison twice.
The hacking project takes off around the country with more and more
people released from their electronic bondage, and the urban maroon
communities become a model of mutual aid and self -organization. With
mounting public support for these self-governing communities, police and
sheriffs hold back from invading and taking them over. At the end of the
book, the future of the urban maroons is unpredictable. It isn’t clear
how long the communities will survive, whether they will be invaded by
the police or if they will be able to overcome the type of internal
implosions which doomed the Occupy movement and other such radical
efforts in the past. Still, a fire has been lit, and this new
abolitionist tactic is spreading across the country.
Fast forward to the real 2020. My novel certainly didn’t prefigure the
emergence of the novel coronavirus – though both scientists and science
fiction writers have foreseen the emergence of such a virus. And
contrary to my hacktivist fantasy, the prevalence of electronic
monitoring has only expanded. Currently, e-shackles are increasingly
offered as an alternative to cages in the era of COVID; the state uses
the pandemic to extend its electronic surveillance of communities across
the country, and Zoom, Facebook and YouTube exert unfettered control
over educational and movement communication (note the recent
unprecedented shut down
<https://electronicintifada.net/blogs/nora-barrows-friedman/youtube-zoom-and-facebook-censor-leila-khaled-israel> of
a forum on gender justice narratives because it included Palestinian
icon Leila Khaled
<https://electronicintifada.net/content/injustice-every-day-interview-leila-khaled/7285>)
.
But my novel did insist that the seemingly solid walls erected between
prison and community are infinitely permeable and are breached in
multiple routine ways every day. From the beginning of the 2020
pandemic, the penetrability of prison walls has been exposed as never
before by an invisible virus that has entered and exited jails, prisons
and detention centers without permission, on a daily basis. Prisons
quickly became part of the public conversation regarding COVID because
they were identified as petri dishes for the virus that would act as
hyper-transmission vectors between cage and community.
Incarcerated people, their loved ones, activists and public health
experts across the country immediately sounded the alarm with
unprecedented unity, in car caravans, organized phone zaps
<https://twitter.com/oaklandabosol/status/1239618283503943680?lang=en>,
open-air demonstrations
<https://www.kqed.org/news/11830634/protesters-chain-themselves-to-front-gate-of-newsoms-home-demanding-mass-inmate-releases>,
and through campaigns to #FreeThemAll
<https://www.afsc.org/FreeThemAll>. We all made it indisputably clear
that decarceration was the only way to prevent widespread infection and
death within prisons, a genocidal prospect. In the context of a prison
infection rate that is five times higher and a death rate that is three
times higher than that of the U.S. population as a whole, radical
decarceration does not seem like a fantasy demand. But tragically, all
across the country state and Federal officials have shown ruthless
disregard for incarcerated lives, shutting down most demands to release
even the most medically vulnerable people in order not to threaten
“public safety” and the sanctity of a punishment system designed to
crush lives and spirits.
The characters in my novel repeatedly dream of breaking through this
matrix of normalized carceral control. They plot escape because the
“legitimate” avenues for freedom require decades of plodding through
legal/political quagmires to prove to a vengeful state their innocence,
illness, remorse, and redemption. When release is finally offered,
following the stringent paths dictated by the rules of law, it often
comes too late for more than a fleeting celebration of freedom before
death. Enter my hacktivist fantasy, an insurgent counterpoint to the
legislated paths to freedom. Hacking through the shackles of electronic
monitoring requires imagination and skill. Building urban maroon
communities demands vision and collective care. These are some of the
elements needed to turn abolitionist fantasies into realities.
*Hacking through the shackles of electronic monitoring requires
imagination and skill. Building urban maroon communities demands
vision and collective care. These are some of the elements needed to
turn abolitionist fantasies into realities.*
In the last chapter of my book, the characters respond to “a
cross-continent death squad of police drilling holes in Black and Brown
bodies” (227): the 2014 wave of police violence that brutally took the
lives of Mike Brown, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Alex Nieto, Aura Rain
Rosser, Ezell Ford and many more. “A tipping point had been reached and
the orange bubble of rage that had been simmering for years barely below
the surface exploded in the streets”(228). Now, in the real 2020, that
tipping point has again been reached as Black-led uprisings against
police terror and the entire racist apparatus sweep across the country.
In response to the murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud
Arbery, Tony McDade, Rayshard Brooks, Dejon Kizzee, and Daniel Prude,
#Abolish the Police, #Abolish ICE, #Abolish Prisons,and #FreeThemAll
are no longer just hashtags or fringe fantasies, but have become the
people’s mandates that are shouted in the streets, broadcast on network
TV, projected on the walls of corporate skyscrapers, painted on
sidewalks and storefronts in Minneapolis, Atlanta, Los Angeles, Oakland,
Louisville, Rochester, Kenosha.
The moment is ripe with insurgent possibility and racked with portents
of uncontrollable cataclysm. In a mounting backlash, white supremacist
groups are stoking their festering base with racist cyber-ops,
performative demonstrations of armed might, and acts of brutal violence
as they are egged on from the pinnacle of the U.S. power pyramid. It
will take extraordinary strategic thinking, steadfast commitment and
militant imagination to topple the tilting, but still tall, towers of
the U.S. empire.
In one of 2020’s fantastical realities, former Black Panther Jalil
Muntaqim <https://www.freedomarchives.org/Jalil.html> walked out of
prison to freedom on October 7th after surviving COVID and nearly fifty
years of continuous incarceration. /Clandestine Occupations /was
dedicated to Jalil and to Marilyn Buck
<http://marilynbuck.com/about.html>, a white anti-imperialist, political
prisoner who died ten years ago on August 3, 2010, 19 days after she
received a compassionate release from prison. Marilyn and Jalil ‘s
stories were woven into the fabric of my book. Their histories of
struggle are part of the freedom fighting legacy being carried forward
in 2020’s incendiary uprisings.
With appreciation to Nina Serrano who sparked these reflections.
/Diana Block is a founding and active member of the /California
Coalition for Women Prisoners <https://womenprisoners.org/>/, an
abolitionist organization that is celebrating its 25th anniversary in
2020. / /She is the author of a memoir, /Arm the Spirit – A Woman’s
Journey Underground and Back
<https://www.akpress.org/armthespiritakpress.html>/, and a novel,
/Clandestine Occupations – An Imaginary History
<https://www.pmpress.org/blog/authors-artists-comrades/diana-block/>.
<https://abolitionjournal.org/abolitionist-fantasies/blank>/ She
writes for various online journals about Cuba, Palestine, political
prisoners and other interconnected global subjects./
--
Freedom Archives 522 Valencia Street San Francisco, CA 94110 415
863.9977 https://freedomarchives.org/
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