TempeLiberationCorps
T.L.C. = "Killing 'em with Kindness. . ."

Chasing Rainbows? Utopian Pragmatics and the Search for Anarchist Communities*
Randall Amster
School of Justice Studies
Arizona State University
Tempe, AZ 85287-0403

Abstract
This is the second part of an analysis of anarchist theory and practice, building on the framework previously developed in "Anarchism as Moral Theory: Praxis, Property, and the Postmodern" (Anarchist Studies, v6/n2, Fall 1998). In the original essay, concepts such as moral self-direction, a commonly-held materiality, and human sociality were advanced and analyzed in theoretical terms. In this article, the empirical foundations of these concepts are explored, with an emphasis on sociological processes such as norm formation, sanctioning, dispute resolution, and exchange. In addition, concepts such as power, authority, consensus, and cooperation are analyzed, drawing on anthropological studies of communities manifesting anarchist tendencies, including "utopian" experiments, "indigenous" societies, and the unique case of the "Rainbow Family." The article concludes that conceptions of "property" and the social dynamics that inhere within a community are inextricably linked, setting the stage for a third component of the study that will explore the possibility of achieving an organic synthesis of self, society, and nature.

* * *

"There is no authoritarian hierarchy here. We have a tribal anarchy where we take care of each other, because we recognize that we are All One. The Gathering works because each of us takes the responsibility for doing what needs to be done, and for teaching others. Part of that responsibility is a pledge we keep to each other: We pledge to walk lightly on the earth; We pledge to respect and care for each other and all living things; We pledge to drop all violence as we deal with each other; We pledge to deal with each other up front and with open hearts." — The Rainbow Guide (1995)

Introduction: Anarchy, Ecology, and Utopia

The central tension in perhaps all social theory is that between the individual and the community. This apparent dichotomy is important not only in theoretical terms, but also bears directly on how members of a given community will interact with each other, as well as how the community as a whole interacts with the larger environment (Bookchin 1991; cf. Moos & Brownstein 1977, Merchant 1979). Accordingly, a central aim of anarchism has always been to elucidate an integrated theory of self, society, and nature, and in particular through the promotion of non-hierarchical social and ecological forms (e.g., Pepper 1993:152-203). Anthropological and ethnographic studies of various anarchist communities and their socio-ecological dynamics are instructive in this regard, as are certain utopian tracts with demonstrably anarchistic impulses. Indeed, the co-existence of both anthropological and utopian strands in studies of anarchist communities indicates the presence of a perspective akin to what John Zerzan (1994) has called "future primitive" -- that is, the recognition that anarchy is both very old (time-tested and dated to antiquity) and at the same time radically new and forward-looking -- squarely framing the historical paradox that "the past didn't go anywhere" (Phillips & Difranco 1996). In these times of wholesale environmental degradation, the technological eclipse of natural morality, and a looming global apocalypse that has lodged itself in the popular consciousness, it seems apparent that society as presently configured is not sustainable and may be approaching its structural and historical limits. Where we go from here is an open question, and the search for "anarchist community" represents at least one kind of plausible future -- one that is greatly informed by its time-tested past.

An analysis of the workability and/or desirability of anarchy as a principle of social "order" is informed by studies of certain communities and societies that have manifested anarchist tendencies, including the absence of coercive authority and codified law, a penchant for processes that are participatory and spontaneous, and an inherent impetus among community members to associate voluntarily and cooperatively. We can divide such studies into three broad categories, encompassing (1) "indigenous" nations (also termed "organic" societies or "primitive" cultures) (e.g., Barclay 1990; Clastres 1994; Taylor 1982); (2) "alternative" cultures arising within the framework of the dominant culture, such as communes and intentional communities (e.g., Kanter 1972; Veysey 1974; Bouvard 1975), squatters' movements (e.g., Bey 1991), and the unique case of the nomadic "Rainbow Family" (see Niman 1997); and (3) "utopian" visions of worlds that have not yet come to pass (e.g., P.M. 1995; LeGuin 1974; Morris 1995; Huxley 1961). This indigenous-alternative-utopian perspective captures the essence of anarchism by indicating its past-present-future quality, and provides a framework for exploring the socio-structural dynamics of communities existing beyond the strictures of statism.

Inquiries of this ilk inevitably raise certain questions as to the practical efficacy of creating and maintaining anarchist communities. Karl Marx, to take a pessimistic exemplar, was specifically derisive in his own time toward those often termed "utopian socialists" -- disciples of Fourier or Owen who are sometimes (perhaps mistakenly) read to have argued "that the road from capitalism to socialism lay in creating model communities, isolated from the mainstream of industrial society" (Inverarity, et al. 1983:92, n.8). Marx admonished that these purported utopian socialists were ignoring the implicit materialist process contemplated by his ‘base-superstructure' model: "The state of productive forces at any given moment in history sets limits on the range of political action that will be viable" (id. at 60; see also Solomon, ed., 1974). Since he even went so far as to term certain utopian initiatives "obsolete verbal rubbish" and "ideological nonsense" (1983:93, n.9), it isn't hard to guess what Marx would say about the utopian aspects of anarchism.

Of course, it isn't just the impracticality or improbability of achieving utopia that has brought forth criticism, but the realizability of such endeavors as well (e.g., Mannheim 1936; Moos & Brownstein 1977). Antiutopian arguments often construct utopian enterprises as rigid, static, totalizing, and authoritarian, citing such tendencies in both the U.S. and former U.S.S.R. as examples of this ‘dark side' of utopia (id.). As one writer has opined, "Both Marxism and anarchism reject the idea of utopia for reasons discussed above: it could become a template imposed by present on future generations. It could restrict their freedom by creating a prescribed blueprint for living, and therefore become a basis for totalitarianism. It is also a recipe for political naivete in the present" (Pepper 1993:176; see also Berneri 1950). But these suppositions overlook the crucial points that utopia – particularly of the anarchist variety – is a dynamic process and not a static place (Harvey 1997:333); that attaining a harmonious and sustainable exchange with nature and an open, participatory process among community members are central features of these endeavors (Niman 1997; Kropotkin 1993); that resistance to dominant cultures of repression and authoritarianism is often the impetus for these anarcho-utopian undertakings (e.g., Kanter 1972); and that communities embodying these principles are properly viewed as ongoing experiments and not finished products (P.M. 1995; Veysey 1973). Indeed, as Colin Ward wryly observes, "we don't have to worry about the boredom of utopia: we shan't get there" (1973:136). In a strong sense, then, utopia is literally "no place" – but is instead a condition of permanent revolution, a continuing rebellion against our own tendencies toward entrenchment and domination (cf. Barclay 1990:150), "perpetually exploring new ways to perfect an imperfect reality" (Niman 1997:203).

In theorizing a "return to anarchy," Donald Black (1976) offers a more optimistic view that resonates with these tenets. Characterizing his vision of anarchy as the simultaneity of closeness and distance, similarity and diversity, and stability and change, Black refers to certain "trends" that could accomplish the transition, including: (i) decreasing stratification, leading to greater equality in the distribution of wealth, property, and resources; (ii) "increasing differentiation," yielding greater specialization in labor and industry; (iii) "a return to the nomadic life of the earliest societies, the hunters and gatherers;" (iv) a decrease in "intimacy" and a loosening of "traditional ties," such that social relationships often have a "closeness without permanence;" (v) a decline in the number of distinct cultural patterns, slowly replaced by a global mono-culture; (vi) the "increasing organization of social life;" and (vii) a decrease in "social control," due to the transience of relationships and reputations brought about by increased nomadism (1976:132-37). Black ultimately concludes that modern society is slowly but steadily manifesting these trends. In addition to the socio-historical factors that might inhibit or enable the existence of anarchist communities, there is also the pervasive problem of encroachment from the "outside" world:

"Intentional communities are in no sense sovereign entities, but quite the contrary, they are communities within and upon the land of sovereign states. They are attempts to initiate anarchic communities ‘within the shell of the old'. Thus, for example, the several anarchist communes established in the United States all have had to conform in some fashion to United States law and in many cases have been forced to close down largely because they have not so conformed. Any anarchy in such communities becomes highly circumscribed and is applicable to the internal affairs of the group itself, where even the long arm of the law may sometimes reach. Any such commune finds itself an integral part of the political and economic system of the state whether it wants to be or not. Further, individual members themselves have been reared in the cultural traditions and values of that state and have only the greatest difficulty divesting themselves of their deleterious effects. . . . Nor can the commune easily shield the young or any others from the formidable ‘attractions' of the outside. . . . In short, from the start, any such project as an anarchist intentional community has an overwhelming chance of failure because of the odds against it which emanate from the external world" (Barclay 1990:114) (see also Taylor 1982; Bouvard 1975).

All of which certainly qualifies the search for anarchist community as "utopian." The task, then, is to explore the pragmatic parameters and structural feasibility of realizing this quixotic vision.

Laws, Norms, and Anomie

A chief aim of anarchist praxis has always been the abolition of codified, formal laws: "Anarchism . . . has from the time of Godwin rejected all written laws" (Kropotkin 1968:176). Instead, the community would be "regulated by customs, habits and usages" (1968:201) (cf. Nietzsche 1996:67), as well as the urges of "conscience" experienced by each of its members (Amster 1998). The anarchist view is that reference to external, written laws represents an abdication of the individual's capacity for moral self-direction -- an essential element of a social order without institutional coercion. As Kropotkin opines (1968:197): "We are so perverted by an education which from infancy seeks to kill in us the spirit of revolt, and to develop that of submission to authority; we are so perverted by this existence under the ferrule of a law, which regulates every event in life -- our birth, our education, our development, our love, our friendship -- that, if this state of things continues, we shall lose all initiative, all habit of thinking for ourselves." Moreover, codified laws require some institutional body for administration and enforcement, whereas internalized social norms can serve to cultivate deeper instincts for determining "right" and "wrong" by promoting broader access to the community's moral pulse. For instance, consider Kropotkin (1972:110), discussing tribal cultures and their "unwritten rules of propriety which are the fruit of their common experience as to what is good or bad;" Clastres (1977:148-58), analyzing unwritten "primitive law," which functions as a general "prohibition of inequality that each person will remember;" Reid (1970:70), noting that the unwritten "laws of customary usage" of the Cherokee Nation yielded "rules that every Cherokee understood and almost every Cherokee obeyed;" and Pat Lauderdale's (1997:132) analysis of the "law-ways" of North American indigenous cultures: "For most North American Indians law was accessible to everyone since the oral tradition allowed it to be carried around as part of them rather than confined to legal institutions and inaccessible experts who largely control the language as well as the cost of using the law. . . . North American Indian law-ways based on oral traditions have continued to preserve much of the diversity and respect embedded in the cultures of many North American Indians." As Thomas More noted in his genre-defining Utopia (1965:109), "Human nature constitutes a treaty in itself, and human beings are far more effectively united by kindness than by contracts, by feelings than by words."

In anarchist communities, "laws" as such are scarcely required, since the greater part of formal law has "but one object -- to protect private property;" much of the rest serves to "keep up the machinery of government" (Kropotkin 1968:210). In the anarchist society, both the state and notions of private property will have been abolished, and along with them the need for intricately-worded and inaccessible "laws" (e.g., Morris 1995:83-4). Further, as developed in the following section, power and authority in the community will be diffused and decentralized, indicating (as Weber has implicitly argued) a trend away from the predominance of codified, "formal rational" laws (Inverarity, et al. 1983:117-22). As to the rest of the space occupied by law, namely "the protection of the person and the detection and prevention of 'crime'" (Kropotkin 1968:214), informal "norms" of conduct can effectively fill the space and provide a measure of non-authoritarian social control. Anarchism need not after all be construed as anomie (cf. Bouvard 1975:87).

Kropotkin, in no uncertain terms, avers that "society as a whole is responsible for every anti-social act committed" (1968:231). He arrives at this conclusion after first considering physical and physiological causes, finally asserting that social causes far outweigh the other factors: "The main supports of crime are idleness, law and authority; laws about property, laws about government, laws about penalties and misdemeanors; and authority, which takes upon itself to manufacture these laws and to apply them" (1968:217-18). Kropotkin argues that a society organized around private property and institutional law will always cultivate subjects inclined toward possession and acquisition, and the abdication of conscience and we-feeling -- which inevitably lead to what are commonly known as "crimes" and to the construction of individual transgressors as "deviants." As Tifft & Sullivan (1980:24-5) assert, "An atomizing economy, a disenfranchising, politicizing, ruling, managing, centralizing order has paid the criminologist well to diagnose, classify and treat personal misery, subjective injustice and resistance as personal pathology." Garland (1990:112), in addressing Marxian notions of crime and legality, likewise notes the institutional construction of individual responsibility: "[E]ven the most destitute and desperate victims of market society are deemed to be free and equal and in control of their own destinies once they appear in a court of law." Emma Goldman (1969:115-32) reaches similar conclusions in her critique of prisons as "a social crime and failure," as does Jeff Ferrell (1999:93-108) in his recent essay on "anarchist criminology."

What Kropotkin proposes instead is a social order of "healthy education," "mutual aid," "fraternal treatment," and "moral support" (1968:235), since "liberty, equality, and practical human sympathy are the only effectual barriers we can oppose to the anti-social instincts of certain among us" (1968:218). Kropotkin concludes his assessment of crime by observing that "such means will be far more powerful to protect society from anti-social acts than the existing system of punishment which is an ever-fertile source of new crimes" (1968:235). As Goldman (1969:65) asserts, "the State is itself the greatest criminal, breaking every written and natural law, stealing in the form of taxes, killing in the form of war and capital punishment." The anarchist perspective on crime, then, is clear: the modern state -- with its laws and property rights and acquisitive ideology -- is the principal source of crime, violence, and social harms.

Sanctions and the Diffusion of Power

The question often left unaddressed in such critiques, however, is: What forms of crime and punishment exist in the absence of the "state" and its associated cultural and economic logic(s)? If we are indeed inquiring whether sanctioning is an endemic feature of any human community, we must consult Durkheim's postulate that all social orders (consciously or not) at times resort to "ritual punishment" for the purpose of galvanizing social solidarity in response to a crisis in the fabric of the community -- particularly where the crisis is due to an "external threat" (see Inverarity, et al. 1983:127-33). In this formulation, "crimes are those acts which seriously violate a society's conscience collective. They are essentially violations of the fundamental moral code which society holds sacred, and they provoke punishment for this reason" (Garland 1990:29). (The "conscience collective" is defined by Durkheim as "the totality of beliefs and sentiments common to the average citizens of the same society [that] forms a determinate system which has its own life" (quoted in Garland 1990:29 n.5)). The essence of punishment then, according to Durkheim, is "an authentic act of outrage" (in Garland 1990:32).

Does ritual punishment of the sort detailed by Durkheim – despite the anarchist's theoretical objections -- nonetheless occur in the absence of the "state"? The analyses of Barclay (1990), Black (1976), and Kropotkin (1972) suggest that punishment in anarchic settings is more likely to be directly and instrumentally responsive to a particular transgression, and not to serve the larger (proactive) purpose of solidarity enhancement. When intervention is required and punishment meted out, the sanction "typically protects the life of relationships," and "is more remedial than accusatory" (Black 1976:129). "The aim seems to be not so much to determine guilt as to re-establish group harmony" (Barclay 1990:97) (see also Kropotkin 1972:125; Tifft 1979:397).

Nevertheless, Durkheim's shadow persists in reminding us that all groups establish norms of conduct and employ sanctions of some sort, even including the best utopian-anarchist examples (bolo'bolo? Rainbow Family? Zapatistas?) that we might locate today. It is essential to note, however, that the anarchist society always aspires to be "deviance-free" (cf. Tifft 1979) by creating a space where community norms are subjective and voluntary (as Nietzsche intones, "there is no law, no obligation of that kind" (1996:261)), and where each member is equally entitled to define the parameters of the group's moral boundaries. This is the essence of diversity -- voluntary norms, participatory decisionmaking, and the coding of negative deviance as positive difference -- and its contours are inextricably linked with the workings of power and authority in the community.

There are of course risks in pushing too far beyond the consensed boundaries of the group, and even in anarchist settings sanctions can ensue in such cases. Barclay (1990:24-7), for example -- in analyzing anthropological studies of a number of indigenous cultures, including Inuits, African ‘Bushmen,' and various North American ‘Indians,' as well as "modern world" examples such as intentional communities -- observes that "anarchists use a variety of diffuse sanctions," including "gossip, name calling, arguing, fist fighting, killing and ostracism." Black (1976:126-27) likewise notes the presence of social control devices ranging from "banishment and beating to ridicule and teasing," as well as "revenge, compensation, and voluntary exile." Ritter (1980:25-39) provides an account of the notion of "public censure," intended as a non-authoritarian means of securing compliance with community norms and inculcating the same. And Taylor (1982:83-5), in his study of anarchy and community, analyzes sanctions including gossip, shaming, ostracism, denial of benefits, and expulsion (which is rarely utilized).

While it is clear, then, that anarchist communities employ mechanisms of punishment and social control, it is crucial to apprehend the "diffuse" nature of such authority. "This is the meaning of diffuse: responsibility for and the right to impose the sanction is spread out over the community. Society as a whole has the power. There is no special elite which even claims a monopoly on the use of violence as a sanctioning device" (Barclay 1990:24). Stated another way, not unlike that envisioned in the hypothetical "state of nature," in the anarchist community every member possesses the executive authority of the "law" and is charged with the task of cultivating positive conduct and discouraging anti-social acts -- tempered of course by the ubiquitous possibility of "reciprocal justice," which can have a distinct chilling effect on one's readiness to sanction another frivolously or spitefully (Barclay 1990:135). Moreover, the penumbra of the community qua community extends to conflicts and crimes, and further abates the individual's ability to abuse the sanctioning authority. "Why are primitive societies stateless? . . . Because they refuse the division of the social body into the dominating and the dominated. . . . Society, as a single totality, holds power; it is the social body itself that holds and exercises power as an undivided unity" (Clastres 1994:91).

As we have seen, anarchist communities sometimes punish repressively, but more often do so restitutively or restoratively – with the critical point being that in anarchic settings there is no state or other institutional apparatus to carry out such punishments. Diffusion of power not only strikes crime and violence at its (primarily materialist) roots, but through reciprocity and direct participation it likewise nullifies the utility of "deviance," both as a means of asserting power in the face of oppression and authoritarian hierarchy, and as a labeling construct perpetuated to serve the ends of hegemonic forces (see Lauderdale and Amster 1999; cf. Niman 1997:205). When sanctioning does ensue, the face-to-face nature of punishment relations in the anarchist community at least gives social control a more human quality than the mediated, institutional, and repressive methods of the state.

In a well-known sociological study of communes and intentional communities, however, Rosabeth Moss Kanter (1972:231) notes the common contention that, "If communal orders do succeed, critics contend, it is because they substitute one form of coercion for another. The argument runs that when communal groups effect harmony between members and develop a smooth, intimate, cooperative life, they often achieve this at a terrible cost to the individual. Though communes may remove the repressive control of distant, impersonal institutions, they replace it with the control of the intimate, face-to-face group of peers, which is perhaps a more benign kind of coercion, but coercion nonetheless." However, after noting in passing the age-old queries of "whether social life can be sustained without social control," and "whether groups and individuals are doomed to be antagonists" (1972:232), Kanter goes on to remind the critics that:

"it is important to remember the general features of communes: they are voluntary social orders, based on free entrance and exit, regardless of how much pressure the group may put on the individual to stay; their social practices tend to reflect the choices of the members themselves; they usually reject the use of physical violence; they frequently employ practices of mutual criticism and feedback, in which whoever is playing the role of leader is also subject to the criticism of others; they often rotate positions and have frequent meetings in which to share information, so that all members are highly involved in the life and decision-making of the group; and whatever power there is is usually highly visible, for no matter how much figures such as charismatic leaders are infused with mystery, special privilege, and social distance, they are still physically present and highly accessible to members" (1972:232) (see also Clastres 1994:91, noting that in "primitive" societies, "The chief is under surveillance; society watches to make sure the taste for prestige does not become the desire for power.").

Pursuing this line of inquiry further, Kanter asserts that, "It is also important to remember that a certain amount of order seems to be necessary for sustained social life, and communes, at least, often attempt to find ways to establish order that are as equitable as possible. In some ways, order is merely another name for clarified expectations, and structure is another name for an agreement on the part of the group. The importance of clear expectations and group agreements is stressed by even the most anarchistic commune theorists" (1972:232). Putting aside this open question of whether anarchy requires some level of order, Kanter instructively concludes her assessment of "Group Pressure and Social Control" with an admonition that seeks to transcend the familiar dichotomies of social theory and focus the inquiry at its fundamental human level (1972:234): "The issue need not necessarily be phrased as the group versus the individual, as community or privacy, as organization or freedom. Rather, the question for the future is how to promote the growth of the individual and to respect his privacy in the context of a close loving community that also has the degree of organization needed to continue to meet the needs of the individuals within it." This remains a central aim for any intended experiment in anarchy.

Conflicts, Disputes, and Resolutions

Closely related to sanctioning practices, consider those social processes often denoted as "dispute resolution" -- which is not a distinct sphere in anarchist settings, but merely the flip side of the same coin (crime and punishment) that has been analyzed here. Are theft (property) or assault (person), for instance, "crimes" against the community, or are they better conceived as personal disputes between individual parties? In the anarchist setting, without a central state apparatus for administration and enforcement, "crimes" such as theft or assault are more likely to be treated as disputes of a civil nature -- with the added dimension that the community itself is directly involved in the resolution process. What is left that we might term "crimes" is conduct that violates social norms (or the "conscience collective") and for which there is no specific victim except the community itself. At Rainbow Gatherings, for example, potential loci of such community crimes include: (a) "breaking the pledge of non-violence" -- the only transgression for which one can be "turned away;" (b) the acceptance of money at the barter circle, which "jeopardizes our right to use public land;" and (c) the use of alcohol, as to which "it has long been a Family tradition to discourage" (Rainbow Guide 1995). However, these mandates are seen as voluntary proscriptions, and even in those few cases where reasoned argument and gentle persuasion are unavailing, the rule of thumb is to try civil resolution first (focused on restoring the relationship), and then to employ more repressive sanctions like ostracism or banishment only as a last resort (see Niman 1997:114-30; Barclay 1990:97).

Of critical importance, then, are the processes by which disputes are resolved in anarchist communities -- since "dispute resolution" serves as both a means of resolving conflict and as a form of social control (cf. Griffiths & Hamilton 1996:181, on Aboriginal peoples). In this regard, Tifft (1979:397-98) observes that "experiences of personal conflict are essential to creative assessment and change. It means that we must restore life and the settlement of disputes to a direct face to face and collective process. This means no institutionalization of conflict resolution. It means airing the complexities of the dispute situation and of all our collective futures to reach toward new understandings while cherishing the reality of returning to work and living with others. . . . Face to face justice is an outgrowth of life, needing no special or permanent personages or languages, no office of authority or imposition. [Therefore,] a response to interpersonal conflict cannot be reasonably articulated before the conflict has arisen, only afterwards and after it has not been resolved to the mutual satisfaction of the persons involved." Tifft thus advocates a "retrospective response" to social harms that we can contrast with the Durkheimian notion of "proactive" punishment (see Inverarity, et al. 1983:128-29). The first level of dispute resolution, then, is the parties themselves working out an agreeable arrangement; only in cases of intractable impasse is a more formal process (i.e., community involvement) required (Barclay 1990:48).

Resolution processes employed in anarchist settings such as Rainbow Gatherings, for example, include: (a) the disputants facing each other and venting the nature of the conflict (often in the form of a "heartsong") while encircled by community members who encourage resolution; (b) each disputant arguing their side of the conflict to a circle of community members and agreeing to accept the decree of the circle; (c) the direct intervention of community members in separating the disputants until such time as they become able to privately resolve the issues; and (d) the mutual agreement on a mediator (often a respected elder) to facilitate resolution (cf. Niman 1997; and Lauderdale 1997:141, analyzing "an indigenous justice-as-healing approach"). Indeed, analogous processes have been noted in many indigenous cultures, and Barclay (1990:48-62) again cites numerous examples, including North African "Pygmies" (entire community involved in resolving intractable disputes); the Konkomba of Togo ("disputes are to be settled by mediation, and no violence is tolerated"); and the Yurok Indians of Northern California ("go betweens" serve to facilitate mediation). In addition, Black (1976:128-29) notes similar processes among the Ifugao of the Philippines (appointment of mediator); the Nuer of the Sudan (same); and the Navajo Indians of North America ("local influentials, chosen for wisdom and diplomacy," work with interested parties to resolve disputes). Black (1976:129) also observes that "In other societies an informal court, a moot or conclave, would convene for the same purpose. . . Whether an individual or a group, however, the third party typically is more an agent of compromise than of judgment." And Kropotkin (1972:125-37) notes analogous mechanisms at work among certain "pre-historic" cultures.

In Weberian typology terms, these methodologies might be said to have a distinctly "substantive irrational" quality, characterized in part by: (1) the presence of a "charismatic" figure serving as arbiter; (2) case-by-case (reactive, not proactive) decision-making; (3) reliance on "extralegal" (e.g., moral or spiritual) grounds in reaching decisions; and (4) the lack of an autonomous "legal" system for resolving disputes (see Barclay 1990:134; Inverarity, et al. 1983:103-10). This type of decision-making has an inherent flexibility and responsive quality (sacrificing uniformity and predictability) that renders it particularly appropriate to the anarchist community dynamic. Similar themes are often sounded in "popular justice" or "community mediation" discourses, and one strand of popular justice in particular -- the "communitarian tradition" -- bears a resemblance to anarchist resolution methods. Communitarian justice generally employs local or indigenous law-ways and not state law; is bound up with attempts "to create a new religious or utopian social order;" advocates decentralization and the application of community norms instead of legal rules of procedure; and focuses on "feelings and individual expression" (Merry 1995:45-7). Thus, some of the informal resolution techniques employed in anarchic settings such as the Rainbow Gathering are grounded in processes explored in the body of literature surrounding the "popular justice" movement. Similar themes are also expounded under the burgeoning rubric of "restorative justice" (e.g., Galaway & Hudson 1996).

Authority and Consensus,

As the foregoing discussion implies, anarchist communities do not entail the elimination of attributes such as power and authority, but contemplate new applications of these endemic tendencies (see Taylor 1982:24). In such settings, authority might be characterized as "recognized competence within a certain field, and the right to take and carry out decisions with the assent of every person whom the decisions affect. Authority thus defined is not the opposite or the enemy of freedom but its necessary complement" (Baldelli 1971:75). How might this concept be operationalized in a "stateless" society? In Social Anarchism, Baldelli provides initial guidance: (1) "Coercive power must be reduced to a minimum and put in as many hands as possible"; (2) "Claims to authority must be rejected if they are established by force"; (3) "Each authority must be answerable to several others that are equally responsible to several more"; (4) "No person in his relationship with another should be exempt from judgment by a third"; (5) "Overwhelming power should always be with the third party"; and (6) "Access to a third party, available to everyone, should be to many third parties, not to one only" (1971:86-8). Compare Murray Bookchin's discussion of authority in "organic societies," which he defines as "primitive or preliterate communities" (1991:43,55): "What we flippantly call 'leadership' in organic societies often turns out to be guidance, lacking the usual accouterments of command. Its 'power' is functional rather than political. Chiefs, where they authentically exist and are not the mere creations of the colonizer's mind, have no true authority in a coercive sense. They are advisors, teachers, and consultants, esteemed for their experience and wisdom. Whatever 'power' they do have is usually confined to highly delimited tasks such as the coordination of hunts and war expeditions. It ends with the tasks to be performed. Hence, it is episodic power, not institutional; periodic, not traditional." Similarly, consider Clastres (1994:87-92), who further illuminates the distinction between power and prestige in the organic "societies against the state" in the Amazon basin; Mbah & Igariwey (1997:29,38) noting the same among traditional African societies; Mander (1991:227) observing that coercive forms of authority are unknown among "virtually all traditional tribal people;" and Lauderdale (1997:136-37) analyzing indigenous sanctioning practices that existed in "the absence of prisons [and] centralized authority." Putting all of this together, a vision begins to emerge of an anarchist community in which individuals are free to exercise authority in areas of particular skill or interest while following, assisting, and learning in other spheres, creating a space "where reputations and other statuses fluctuate from one day to the next" (Black 1976:137). Thoroughly diffuse and decentralized, power is free to course through the conduits of the community, finding its way into action through those best attuned to its resonance for the task at hand (see Ward 1973:41; cf. Mander 1991:101). Power so conceived fosters an air of spontaneous creative energy, in which chores become "happenings" and works are events (Ward 1973:28-37) -- and still somehow structures are erected, people fed, fires fought, and babies born (see Niman 1997:60-98, discussing "Rainbow infrastructure"). In this way, the community gets the most out of the energies of its members, maximizing its human potential, while preserving both individual autonomy and group consensus.

On this last point, it has often been observed that absent central authority, "laws" are generally established by "consensus," in which community norms and decisions are unanimously agreed upon through processes of active participation and open debate, aimed at facilitating a "deeper and deeper probing into meanings and motivations until a common ground is found" (Zablocki 1973:173-75; see also Barclay 1990; Mbah & Igariwey 1997; Mander 1991; and Kropotkin 1972:133, who notes the tribal process of "unanimity" in which "the discussions continue until all present agree to accept, or submit to, some decision," since there exists "no authority in a village community to impose a decision.") The Rainbow literature similarly instructs: "Consensus is how we govern ourselves. Consensus means coming to solutions acceptable to everyone, not just a majority. Consensus gives every person a chance to be heard and have their input weighed equally. The smallest minority has a chance to change the collective mind if their vision is keener. It is possible that Spirit has given them a message that is presently beyond the perception of the rest of the council. Consensus works in an environment of trust, where everyone suffers or gains alike from the decision. Everyone must: listen and participate, get informed, be rational, and be part of the process from the beginning" (Rainbow Guide 1995; see also McLaughlin & Davidson 1985, Bouvard 1975, and Melville 1972, on analogous processes in intentional communities).

As is the case with the concomitant processes of sanctioning, dispute resolution, and authority, the appearance of power in the anarchist setting is "diffuse" in the sense that every member of the group is equally entitled to be a direct and active participant in the creation of community "norms" and in the entire decisionmaking process itself. In this way, individuals acquire a deeper sense of the meaning and purpose of the "law" extant in the community, rendering superfluous the need for institutionalization and even codification. The benefits of conceiving the "social contract" as an organic, ongoing agreement derived through direct participation and consensus decisionmaking are manifold, not the least of which is to encourage an environment in which cooperation and not competition becomes the predominant aim of both the group and its individual constituents.

Cooperation, Collective Action, and the Commons

Many theorists have analyzed the related phenomena of cooperation, collective action, and management of "the commons" -- often considering some version of a "Prisoners' Dilemma" model as the starting point. Perhaps the most succinct explication of cooperation derived in this manner is found in Robert Axelrod's The Evolution of Cooperation (1984). Empirically testing numerous theories of behavior (in the form of computer game models), Axelrod conducted a series of iterated round-robin tournaments among the theories. The clear winner each time was the simplest of the entries: the five line program of Anatol Rapoport known as "Tit for Tat," which essentially entails straight reciprocity of the opponent's last move. Tit-for-Tat also has the added dimension of being a "nice" strategy, in that it never is the first to defect, but instead always cooperates on the first move. The strategy then is to reciprocate the other player's last move on Tit-for-Tat's next move. The "contingent" nature of this strategy -- in which one's move depends on what the other player does -- is one of the benefits of iteration (i.e., repeated encounters) (cf. Ostrom 1990:39). In the end, Axelrod posits that cooperation (even among purely self-interested egoists) could develop and sustain without the presence of a central authority by: (1) "enlarging the shadow of the future" (i.e. making interactions more frequent and durable); (2) teaching people to care about each other (which is only likely to improve on the egoist's cooperative tendencies); and (3) promoting reciprocity (making it hard for exploitative strategies to survive) (1984:124-41). Similarly, Taylor (1987:164-68 and 1982:25-33) has observed that cooperation can be fostered in any given environment by ensuring that relations between members are direct (unmediated by representatives or bureaucrats) and many-sided (across a spectrum of types of relations) (see also Harriott 1993:337).

Subsequent theorists have drawn on Axelrod's results in formulating their own distinct theories of cooperation. An interesting example is the work of Dawes, van de Kragt, & Orbell (in Mansbridge, ed., 1990), who conducted experiments involving small groups of strangers who were each given minor sums of money that could be increased through mutual cooperation. The catch, as in the classic Prisoners' Dilemma, is that keeping the money and breaking one's earlier promise to cooperate is the dominant (most personally advantageous) strategy. Nonetheless, Dawes, et al., found that in situations where group members were allowed brief discussion periods before being individually queried for their choices, cooperation was by far the most-favored strategy. Dawes, et al., explain the results by hypothesizing that group solidarity -- facilitated by face-to-face encounters among members -- leads to higher levels of cooperation, and that universal promising among members leads to even higher levels of solidarity and hence cooperation (1990:97-110). Axelrod's notions of reciprocity and durability, and Taylor's ideal of direct interactions, are not dissimilar.

What is vexing about these results to many "rational choice" proponents is that cooperation occurs despite the fact that it is in each individual's self-interest to defect. What magic explains this seemingly "irrational" behavior? Dawes, et al., talk about solidarity, sociality, and we-feeling (1990:108-10). Mansbridge speaks of the non-self-interested (altruistic) motives of love and duty (1990:135-37). Even Axelrod, who hardly strays from the classic Prisoners' Dilemma model of self-interested egoists, argues for teaching people to care about one another (1984:134-36). All of this has profound implications for the viability of a coherent anarchist theory, since an empirical demonstration of the possibility of cooperation without external inducement or coercion is an important piece to the normative puzzle contemplated by visions of a stateless society.

One of the common arguments in support of a central state apparatus is that without the threat of institutional sanctions, public goods could not be maintained since everyone who could defect (or free-ride) would do so. What the empirically-informed theories I have considered here suggest, however, is that the human agent is possessed of some capacity for acknowledging the "otherness" in their neighbors and acting in furtherance of the social collective -- even where these innate tendencies are outweighed by the relative advantages of narrow self-interest. In this regard, a mechanism is discovered for the creation of societal norms that naturally arises out of the kinetic energy inherent in a group dynamic, and this innate energy is only further enhanced by direct (unmediated) encounters, education toward cooperation, and the prospect of mutual benefit.

Another empirical work supporting these suppositions is Elinor Ostrom's Governing the Commons (1990). Ostrom begins with a discussion of the three primary models of joint management of common resources: (1) "the tragedy of the commons," in which the fact of common ownership leads to neglect and misuse of the common resource; (2) the Prisoners' Dilemma, in which, as observed above, each player's dominant strategy is to defect; and (3) the logic of collective action, in which it has often been asserted that "whenever one person cannot be excluded from the benefits that others provide, each person is motivated not to contribute to the joint effort, but to free-ride on the efforts of others" (1990:2-7). Relying on systematic case studies of common-pool resources (CPRs) around the globe (e.g., riparian rights in Spain, Alpine grazing in Switzerland, and old-growth Japanese forests), Ostrom argues that the three primary models – with their view of human agents as atomistic egoists requiring Leviathan-type coercion in order to cooperate – are overly rigid and make a number of limiting assumptions about accuracy of information, monitoring capabilities, sanctioning reliability, and cost of administration (1990:10). Ostrom demonstrates instead that in many situations, people sharing CPRs have found wholly internal solutions to the problems of collective action, often based on communication, trust, and the sense of a common future (1990:21).

Ostrom's detailed study and resulting praxis-theory further enhances the prospect of establishing and maintaining an anarchist community. The rejection of private property in favor of an expansive "usufruct," as I (1998) have previously explored, is not unlike depicting the entire earth -- indeed, all of material existence itself -- as one great "commons" (cf. Stone 1993). While Ostrom's analysis focuses on small-scale CPRs, it demonstrates the possibility of envisioning collective action without institutional coercion or authority. As Ostrom notes, once "external" officials get involved, individual ability to be self-policing is abdicated, reciprocity and trust are diminished, the sense of mutuality and a common future is undermined, and rewards are skewed to the benefit of the external officials (1990:213). These same arguments -- abdication, diminished trust and mutualism, and institutional bias -- are often mentioned as anarchist objections to central authority and the state apparatus (e.g., Taylor 1987:168-69). What Ostrom's research implies is that a sufficiently motivated group of individuals can overcome these pitfalls and realize the anarchist vision of diffuse power, decentralized authority, expansive usufruct in materiality, and the maximization of inherent cooperative tendencies.

Exchange, Subsistence, and the Virtues of Refusal

Accordingly, a principal component of anarchist community must be its "material" or "economic" life, which cannot be separated from its political and social aspects (Clastres 1994; Taylor 1982; cf. Mander 1991:297). In many such settings there exists an emphasis on cooperation, mutualism, and reciprocity, and to that end the dominant forms of exchange among community members have often been barter (e.g., Mbah & Igariwey 1997:29 on traditional African cultures), gifting or sharing (e.g., Ingold, et al., eds., 1988:281 on hunter-gatherers; Rogers 1994:45 on organic societies), and hospice (e.g., P.M. 1995:84). Significantly, there is a dearth of examples in the literature indicating the dominant presence of capitalist (i.e., profit, exploitation, and obsessive growth) economics in anarchistic settings. Rather, such communities are distinguished by their maintenance of an economic "safety net" in which members are at least guaranteed access to essentials such as sustenance and shelter (see Ward 1973; Mbah & Igariwey 1997; Bookchin 1991). As for the Rainbow Family, Niman (1997) notes the presence of all of these practices, reflected in the group's "all ways free" open admission policy, communal kitchens, and "trading circle." It should also be recalled that one of the few consensed norms among the Family is a prohibition against the acceptance of money at the barter circle, although monetary donations to a communal "Magic Hat" are encouraged and used to procure bulk foods and other necessities from "Babylon" (i.e., ‘civilization').

As a corollary to the prevalence of exchange practices such as barter and hospice, there is a pervasive "subsistence perspective" (see Werlhof 1997; Mies 1993) to be found across a wide spectrum of anarchist settings. Peace Pilgrim, a wanderer for peace who covered more than 25,000 miles on foot in the U.S. from 1953 to 1981, carried with her a simple message of dispossession, self-actualization through nature experience, and nonviolence. Living at the level of "need," sleeping mostly outdoors, "walking until I am given shelter and fasting until I am given food," Peace Pilgrim powerfully reminds us that the search for "utopia" is one that requires sacrifice, fortitude, and especially faith: "It is easy for one to speak of faith; it is another thing to live it" (1994:128). The vagabond, the nomad, and the transient all aspire to this quality of faith-in-practice (Amster 1999); so too the commune, the collective, and the squat. If one is inclined to imagine a commonality among these avatars that might presage a network of anarchistic spaces within the dominant culture, perhaps it lies in this "faith of refusal" -- like Marcuse's "Great Refusal," which "becomes an existential leap into faith" (in Solomon, ed., 1974:524) -- and in the renunciation of the "totality" (including both its torments and temptations) in favor of a commitment to "Diversity, invisibility, flexibility, the absence of names, flags or labels, the refusal of pride or honor, the avoidance of political behavior and the temptations of 'representation'" (P.M. 1995:65). As Hakim Bey (1994:4) opines: "The crystalline perfections of Civilization and Revolution cease to interest us when we have experienced them both as forms of War, variations on that tired old Babylonian Con, the myth of Scarcity. Like the bedouin we choose an architecture of skins -- and an earth full of places of disappearance. Like the Commune, we choose a liquid space of celebration and risk rather than the icy waste of the Prism (or Prison) of Work, the economy of Lost Time, the rictus of nostalgia for a synthetic future." Thus, the prospect of federation (i.e., a network) is suggested by certain proactive life strategies that often entail an initial act of refusal -- of both the temptations of the "totality" and the revolutionary impulse to confront desperate odds with violent reprisals. As Bey notes, "in most cases the best and most radical tactic will be to refuse to engage in spectacular violence, to withdraw from the area of simulation, to disappear" (1991:102). This tactic of disappearance arising out of refusal works simultaneously to limit the reach of the tentacles of the "Machine" (P.M. 1995:36) and to create spaces for the realization of alternate "realities" -- a process sometimes characterized as a "fission-fusion" that "liberates an area . . . and then dissolves itself to reform elsewhere" (Niman 1997:98), paralleling the workings of Hakim Bey's "temporary autonomous zone" (or TAZ) which employs "invisibility, webworking, and psychic nomadism" as strategies of refusal to the "totality" (1991:134). In this light, we come to understand refusal as both re-active and pro-active, both negation and affirmation, responding to the question posed by P.M. in bolo'bolo (1995:53) -- "Is the only choice that between the Machine's own dream and the refusal of any activity?" -- with a "third way" that conceives of refusal as a transformative activity in itself, a means to its own end (cf. Mies 1993:318).

This conceptualization of refusal also begins to explain the proliferation of what sociologists sometimes call "retreat communes," which entail "rejection of all the places, behaviors, and values most characteristic of modern American society" (Kanter 1972:175-77). These retreat communes are often "anarchistic both by conscious choice and by virtue of the act of retreat itself. This act often gives the group definition primarily by what it rejects" (Kanter 1972:177). Kanter goes on to note, however, that "retreat" alone is "not conducive to building commitment" (1972:177), that in general "retreat and anarchy are clearly not viable ways to build an enduring group" (1972:188), and accordingly observes that most such endeavors have been short-lived and ultimately failed experiments in communal living. The TAZ contemplated by Bey, however, and the "fission-fusion" character of the Rainbow Family as described by Niman (1997:98,204), indicate a view in which all meaningful resistances are "short-lived" as a precondition of "invisibility" and the refusal of political power. Thus, despite their ostensible "failure" to achieve permanence, communes and communities -- "in the 1930s and 1960s as much as in the 1820s and 1840s" -- have nonetheless been successful "experiments in living" by promoting "new ideas in education, child rearing, personal development, mental health, environmental planning, industrial production, forms of work, types of technology and sources of energy" (Kumar 1991:78). These isolated experiments might be conceived instead as a single ongoing experiment conducted in different places and at various times, achieving a "fission-fusion" character that represents a form of "continuity" that lies beyond the scope of the social scientist's measuring device.

As Niman goes on to assert (1997:204-05): "The Rainbow Family shares few traits with what historians and sociologists traditionally identify as successful utopian communities. It has no permanent settlement or land base; no assets; no formal organization, charismatic prophet, hierarchy, or identifiable leadership; it is nonsectarian and maintains no selective criteria to determine membership; requires no material investment or personal sacrifice from recruits; has no work routines or requirements; does not encourage, discourage, or attempt to coordinate sexual relations; does not require any ideological conversion nor attempt to control child rearing. By all indications, looking at historical precedents, the Family should have collapsed shortly after its inception in the early 1970s." The Family's strength, its sine qua non of survival against long historical odds, perhaps lies in the precise fact of its refusal of the sociologists' prescription of order, structure, and commitment. The form of "retreat" often considered by sociologists is primarily negative in character, and thus lacks the positive aspects of refusal contemplated by strategic cousins like Bey's TAZ (1991), the "nomadic utopia" of the Rainbow Family (Niman 1997), and P.M.'s anarcho-utopian vision of a network of self-sufficient "bolo" communities that represents "a modest proposal for the new arrangements on the spaceship after the Machine's disappearance" (1995:57). Thus, just as utopia is always comprised of both "critical" and "constructive" aspects (Kumar 1991:97), the anarchist conception of refusal always carries with it positive potentialities, even when cast in terms of negation.

Similarly, upon observing that "primitive societies are societies that refuse economy" (1994:111), Pierre Clastres notes the prevalence among indigenous nations of an "anti-surplus principle" that is usually framed negatively in terms of poverty or hardship without grasping its fundamental inter-connection to the entire social structure of the nation-tribe. Jerry Mander likewise notes this indigenous tendency toward "deliberate underproduction" and "the choice of subsistence." In addition to citing Marshall Sahlins' famous insight that such "primitive" cultures are the "original affluent societies" due to their abundance of leisure time and diversity of diversions, Mander (1991:250-52) goes on to consider the positive aspects of this "refusal of economy," which include: an optimistic attitude toward nature and its impulse to provide food in abundance (rendering superfluous the need to stockpile); the persistence of a nomadic identity and the desire to travel light; a reduced impact on the environment arising out of an inherent respect for and symbiosis with the earth; community sharing of resources; and the prevention of social hierarchies and economic inequalities (see also Clastres 1994:105-12; Mies 1993:319-22). As it has been said of certain renunciate implications in Taoism (see Clark 1998:18): "The life of 'simplicity' is in no way the impoverished life of one who seeks escape from the corrupt world and its temptations. Rather it is something much more affirmative: it is the consummate existence of one who has rejected whatever would stunt or distort growth and personal fulfillment. Simplicity is not, however, a quality with implications for personal life alone. It refers also to social institutions which will promote rather than hinder self-realization. A society based on social status, or one glorifying the pursuit of material wealth and permitting economic domination, is inevitably destructive, producing conflict, disorder, envy, and crime." Myriad indigenous cultures, alternative communities, and utopian experiments have long perceived this intimate connection between material subsistence and social existence. As Maria Mies (1993:322) observes: "Wherever women and men have envisaged a society in which all – women and men, old and young, all races and cultures – could share the ‘good life', where social justice, equality, human dignity, beauty and joy in life were not just utopian dreams never to be realized (except for a small elite or postponed to an after-life), there has been close to what we call a subsistence perspective. . . . Sustainability is not compatible with the existing profit- and growth-oriented development paradigm." Indeed, the utopian longings of writers such as Morris (1995), Huxley (1961), and Callenbach (1975), among others, bolster the larger point maintained here that a central function of anarchistic experiments is to achieve a balanced relationship with the environment that enables harmonious relations among community members. Treading lightly on the earth, promoting agrarianism, and living close to the level of ‘need' are all important components of this subsistence-based ecological outlook.

Conclusion: Land and Freedom

What I have been exploring here are the parameters of an apparent nexus between the character ascribed to ‘property' in a given community, and the social dynamics that inhere therein. As the foregoing analysis has intimated, this nexus is historically demonstrable and sociologically tenable, and almost seems self-evident by now: private property regimes often lead to wholesale degradation of the environment and vast social inequities, while ‘usufruct' or ‘common-pool' models often yield respect, participation, and consensus. This working hypothesis directly raises what has been a central challenge for the Rainbow Family, namely to demonstrate that "public space" (i.e., National Forest land) is the only venue suitable for Gatherings since the public quality of the land is integral to the social, political, and spiritual workings of the Family itself. In other words, the lack of a specific ‘owner' of the land disables hierarchies, promotes participation, makes consensus possible, and ensures that people will tread lightly since the land belongs to everyone (and no one at all) (cf. Mumford 1959:133-47). Thus, the Rainbow Family must hold its Gatherings on public land if it is to retain its core identity, beliefs, and practices. A concomitant task in this article has been to assess the structural elements and practical efficacy of envisioning anarchist communities characterized by informal norms, diffuse sanctions, sporadic authority, consensus decisionmaking, and positive refusal. In many ways, these are the roots of our shared human past, a place where some are still trying to be in the present. Mindful of the dangers of advancing a litany of compulsory "programmatics" or utopian prescriptions, and keenly aware that utopia is more process than place, these connective strands bolster the utility of a future-primitive perspective that unites yesterday with tomorrow and presages the potential realization of an organic synthesis of self, society, and nature.