Early 1800s: American Individualist Anarchism advocates for private possession of only what one produces by his own labor. Originally linked to transcendentalist philosophy and the abolitionist movement, it is visible through the Civil War and into “pioneering” and westward expansion.
Late 1800s/Turn of the Century: Anarcha-feminism and Free Love is the application of individual anarchism onto concepts surrounding sexual freedom. (For the history of free love and use in other contexts, jump to “free love” series.) An early feminist movement, anarcha-feminism engages in pushback against sex-based legislature, including marriage and birth control restrictions, that place undue burden on women.
Freethought was a related anti-religious movement.
Late 1800s/Turn of the Century: Anarcho-Communism begins as part of the late 19th century labor movement. Anarcho-communists advocate for socialism and basic rights for women, political prisoners, people of color, and the homeless, and against militarization and the draft.
An anarcho-communist demonstration turns deadly in May of 1886, when a bomb is thrown in Chicago’s Haymarket Square at a workers’ rights rally, killing a police officer. In the unrest that follows, 7 more officers and 4 workers are killed.
Early 20th Century: Luigi Galleani advocates for “propaganda of the deed,” the use of violence to overthrow oppressive institutions. In 1901, American anarchist Leon Czolgosz assassinates president William McKinley. Galleanists go on to complete a series of assassinations and bombings, including the 1920 bombing of Wall Street.
Post–World War II Period: Groups of anarcho-pacifists, anarchist Christians, and early environmentalists develop and are influential in 1960s counterculture and student antiwar protests.
Late 20th Century–Present: Anarchism continues to influence twentieth and twenty-first century leftist politics, including Black civil rights and gay rights activism, the Occupy movement and anti-fascist organizing in response to a rise in far-right visibility after the 2016 election. (Jump to “Antifa.”)
charlie woke in the morning to find Slash staring at her. She jumped.
Sorry, he said. Didn’t mean to scare you.
O-k.
She relaxed back into the crook of his arm, but as the adrenaline from being startled faded she found an uneasiness in her gut and a fetid taste in her mouth. She tried to remember how much she’d had to drink, but the night’s memory was shadowed, only a dark feeling radiating from it. She saw a flash of them running from something across her mind’s eye, but wasn’t sure if she’d dreamt it.
You did good last night.
Did I?
At Holden’s.
The store’s name brought clarity back to the night’s events, though she still didn’t quite believe it. Charlie couldn’t think of another time she’d broken the law, at least not in a way that affected anything outside her own body.
Guess I’m a natural, she said, trying to smile.
Slash tried, too, but his wasn’t quite convincing either.
You o-k?
He nodded.
Yeah, fine. Just thinking about some stuff I gotta do today.
Charlie reached for her jeans and extracted her phone. When she turned it on, it vibrated a continuous thrum, flush with messages stuck in the ether from a night off. She didn’t open any of them, but she saw “mom” pop up a few times in the run and was arrested by competing threads of concern—that she had likely worried her parents, but also that she could have inadvertently put Slash and his friends in danger. What if her mom had sobered up and called the cops when she realized Charlie was missing?
Are you okay?
Yeah, I just—she pointed to her phone—better head out.
Well, come back down for New Year’s, he said. You don’t want to miss the fireworks.
Yeah, maybe.
Big party at the warehouses. They’ll probably open around ten.
Slash stood and pulled on his jeans, but Charlie waved him off.
I can let myself out.
She shouldered her way through the plywood, and stood on the stoop reviewing the thread of messages from her mother, the last of which was just a string of question marks.
at dad’s, Charlie tried.
try again. already.call.ed. him.
Charlie scrolled back up to see that her father had messaged, too. She broke into a jog toward the casino bus depot and began formulating a story that might be acceptable to her mother: had brunch with a friend. on the bus home now.
Her mother loved brunch—it was a soft spot in the dietary restrictions she imposed on herself. Once, at an Easter buffet, Charlie had actually seen her mother applaud a plate of quiche. She boarded the bus; it lurched out of the parking lot. Her mother hadn’t responded.
sorry to scare u, Charlie wrote.
* * *
—
At home Charlie arrived steeled for battle, but her mother was propped up on the couch with a blanket on her lap, looking relatively calm. Charlie noted with no small horror that she was wearing sweatpants. Her mother offered her a bag of cheddar popcorn. It smelled like feet, but Charlie took a handful anyway.
So, who is it? said her mother after a while.
Who?
The boy you were having brunch with.
What boy? No one.
Charlie imagined Slash shaking her mother’s hand, pulling up the extra chair at the dining room table, her mother gaping in horror through the gauged holes in his earlobe.
Tell me or I make you have this conversation with your father.
A boy from school, she blurted. Austin.
A deaf boy?
Charlie rolled her eyes. Austin had been the least offensive person she could offer up, and even that was too much for her mother.
No, Mom, he’s hearing. He just goes to Deaf school.
Don’t start.
He’s Peter Pan, Charlie said, thinking his theater skills might warm her mother to him. In our winter play. But really, we’re just friends.
If you’re just friends then why didn’t you tell anyone you were going to meet him?
I did tell you. Last night. But I guess you were…tired.
Her mother stared down at her hands as if her maternal instincts might suddenly kick in and she’d be able to discern whether Charlie was lying. Fortunately, none materialized.
I’m sorry, Mom. Can we just let it go for now? I’ve got a headache.
Her mother brought a hand to her own temple. Charlie tried not to read into the way she seemed to brighten at the mention of her daughter’s pain.
Hey, how’s that new processor been?
Can we talk about that later?
Her mother pursed her lips, then stood abruptly, the fleece blanket now a static-cling skirt against her sweats. She took a few steps into the kitchen, balled the popcorn bag, made a seamless shot into the trash can, and returned to the couch.
Charlie withdrew to her bedroom and slept away the afternoon. Then she showered, scrubbing herself raw, and emerged feeling new and light, as if a breeze could pass right through her. She went downstairs and helped her mother with dinner, and didn’t even think ill of Wyatt, who was sitting blearily before the television. Screw Slash. No more drugs or stealing, no more punk boys with their fears of commitment and closets full of weird, looted cookware. So what if he was attractive, and even sweet at times? It wasn’t worth it. From now on, she would be Good.
That night, she curled up in the recliner reading until her mother and Wyatt went to bed, then took out her phone and was surprised and pleased to find a message from Kayla.
ready to go back?
Charlie looked around the empty living room.
yeah actually lol. how’s home?
fine. mom is boring af.
same, Charlie wrote. and her bf even worse.
don’t get me started.
hey…just wanted to say i’m really sorry about the whole austin thing. i feel bad.
not on you. anyway he apologized.
good
he let me slap him on tiktok lol …good?
baby steps, said Kayla.