AFS Cinema
An Unrepentant Anarchist
RECEIVED Thu., Oct. 14, 2004
Editor,
I hereby confess my hesitation in admitting that my grandfather was, like you, the preeminent figure at a local newspaper, the Austin Democrat, as the Austin American-Statesman was called prior to its inception. J.G. Walker's foray into journalism followed his unremarkable stint as major general in the army of the Confederacy, a rather disgraceful career that led, naturally enough, to the role of an agent for speculative ventures, which included delivering the first Chinese workers into Texas, as well as the promotion of Eastern-European immigration on behalf of railroads and other interests. I should mention here, too, my ancestor's failed attempts at establishing a permanent slave-owning community for émigré Southerners in Venezuela – so that we can meet one another in good faith when I say that somewhere between a family secret and its utterance is a rawness that has festered.
As has been expressed a thousand times before in friendly-enough conversation, I am an unrepentant anarchist. Or, rather, a historian. Because history shows the public its blindness by presenting a "blind" man with whatever objects it takes time for him to grasp. Time discredits everything it encompasses. To imply that democracy is the sole salvation for its victims is an exquisite form of self-torture. It is even to be feared that democracy, compromised by so many false starts, has finally become suspect in the world, and to make demands in the name of "democracy" at the very moment when this last stronghold in the mythology of America is under the most lucid attacks by the best minds in our ancestral (European) homeland is to reveal a certain obliviousness to history ... I would suggest an experiment with an apple.
Set the fruit on a plate and let it wrinkle and grow hair – whatever you witness is essentially a metaphor for the freedom remaining in your hands. The very same apple that Eve held, eternally present but shrinking – and one cannot assess its size without some previous idea of the state and the dominating culture, of religion, economy, the indigenous people, etc.
Henceforth, your apple is either purely chimerical in substance, or posthumous like a toy from childhood – and this is democracy, too, wooden, immobilized through the practice of analyzation. Patience, my children, before you declare: I am causing a revolution.
I hereby confess my hesitation in admitting that my grandfather was, like you, the preeminent figure at a local newspaper, the Austin Democrat, as the Austin American-Statesman was called prior to its inception. J.G. Walker's foray into journalism followed his unremarkable stint as major general in the army of the Confederacy, a rather disgraceful career that led, naturally enough, to the role of an agent for speculative ventures, which included delivering the first Chinese workers into Texas, as well as the promotion of Eastern-European immigration on behalf of railroads and other interests. I should mention here, too, my ancestor's failed attempts at establishing a permanent slave-owning community for émigré Southerners in Venezuela – so that we can meet one another in good faith when I say that somewhere between a family secret and its utterance is a rawness that has festered.
As has been expressed a thousand times before in friendly-enough conversation, I am an unrepentant anarchist. Or, rather, a historian. Because history shows the public its blindness by presenting a "blind" man with whatever objects it takes time for him to grasp. Time discredits everything it encompasses. To imply that democracy is the sole salvation for its victims is an exquisite form of self-torture. It is even to be feared that democracy, compromised by so many false starts, has finally become suspect in the world, and to make demands in the name of "democracy" at the very moment when this last stronghold in the mythology of America is under the most lucid attacks by the best minds in our ancestral (European) homeland is to reveal a certain obliviousness to history ... I would suggest an experiment with an apple.
Set the fruit on a plate and let it wrinkle and grow hair – whatever you witness is essentially a metaphor for the freedom remaining in your hands. The very same apple that Eve held, eternally present but shrinking – and one cannot assess its size without some previous idea of the state and the dominating culture, of religion, economy, the indigenous people, etc.
Henceforth, your apple is either purely chimerical in substance, or posthumous like a toy from childhood – and this is democracy, too, wooden, immobilized through the practice of analyzation. Patience, my children, before you declare: I am causing a revolution.
Wearing common garments like you,
Opal Walker
Opal Walker