The park, like other Occupied sites across the country, is a point of integration, a place where middle-class men and women, many highly educated but unschooled in the techniques of resistance, are taught by those who have been carrying out acts of rebellion for the last few years. These revolutionists bridge the world of the streets with the world of the middle class.
"They're like foreign countries almost, the street culture and the suburban culture," Friesen says. "They don't understand each other. They don't share their experiences. They're isolated from each other. It's like Irvine and Orange County [home of the city of Irvine]; the hearsay is that they deport the homeless. They pick them up and move them out. There's no trying to engage. And it speaks to the larger issue, I feel, of the isolation of the individual. The individuals going after their individual pursuits, and this facade of individuality, of consumeristic materialism. This materialism is about an individuality that is surface-deep. It has no depth. That's translated into communities throughout the country that don't want anything to do with each other, that are so foreign to each other that there is hardly a drop of empathy between them."
"This is a demand to be heard," he says of the movement. "It's a demand to have a voice. People feel voiceless. They want a voice and participation, a renewed sense of self-determination, but not self-determination in the individualistic need of just-for-me-self. But as in 'I recognize that my actions have effects on the people around me.' I acknowledge that, so let's work together so that we can accommodate everyone."
Friesen says that digital systems of communication helped inform new structures of communication and new systems of self-governance.
"Open source started out in the '50s and '60s over how software is used and what rights the user has over the programs and tools they use," he says. "What freedoms do you have to use, modify and share software? That's translated into things like Wikipedia. We're moving even more visibly and more tangibly into a real, tangible, human organization. We modify techniques. We use them. We share them. We decentralize them. You see the decentralization of a movement like this."
Revolutions need their theorists, but such upheavals are impossible without hardened revolutionists like Friesen who haul theory out of books and shove it into the face of reality. The anarchist Michael Bakunin by the end of the 19th century was as revered among radicals as Karl Marx. Bakunin, however, unlike Marx, was a revolutionist. He did not, like Marx, retreat into the British Library to write voluminous texts on preordained revolutions. Bakunin's entire adult life was one of fierce physical struggle, from his role in the uprisings of 1848, where, with his massive physical bulk and iron determination, he manned barricades in Paris, Austria and Germany, to his years in the prisons of czarist Russia and his dramatic escape from exile in Siberia.
Bakunin had little time for Marx's disdain for the peasantry and the lumpenproletariat
of the urban slums. Marx, for all his insight into the self-destructive
machine of unfettered capitalism, viewed the poor as
counterrevolutionaries, those least capable of revolutionary action.
Bakunin, however, saw in the "uncivilized, disinherited, and illiterate"
a pool of revolutionists who would join the working class and turn on
the elites who profited from their misery and enslavement. Bakunin
proved to be the more prophetic. The successful revolutions that swept
through the Slavic republics and later Russia, Spain and China, and
finally those movements that battled colonialism in Africa and the
Middle East as well as military regimes in Latin America, were largely
spontaneous uprisings fueled by the rage of a disenfranchised rural and
urban working class, and that of dispossessed intellectuals.
Revolutionary activity, Bakunin correctly observed, was best entrusted
to those who had no property, no regular employment and no stake in the
Finally, Bakunin's vision of revolution, which challenged Marx's rigid bifurcation between the proletariat and the bourgeoisie, carved out a vital role for these rootless intellectuals, the talented sons and daughters of the middle class who had been educated to serve within elitist institutions, or expected a place in the middle class, but who had been cast aside by society. The discarded intellectuals -- unemployed journalists, social workers, teachers, artists, lawyers and students -- were for Bakunin a valuable revolutionary force: "fervent, energetic youths, totally de'classe', with no career or way out." These de'classe' intellectuals, like the dispossessed working class, had no stake in the system and no possibility for advancement. The alliance of an estranged class of intellectuals with dispossessed masses creates the tinder, Bakunin argued, for successful revolt. This alliance allows a revolutionary movement to skillfully articulate grievances while exposing and exploiting, because of a familiarity with privilege and power, the weaknesses of autocratic, tyrannical rule.
The Occupy movement is constantly evolving as it finds what works and discards what does not. At any point in the day, knots of impassioned protesters can be found in discussions that involve self-criticism and self-reflection. This makes the movement radically different from liberal reformist movements that work within the confines of established systems of corporate power, something Marx understood very well. It means that the movement's war of attrition will be long and difficult, that it will face reverses and setbacks, but will, if successful, ultimately tear down the decayed edifices of the corporate state.
Marx wrote: "Bourgeois revolutions, like those of the eighteenth century, storm more swiftly from success to success, their dramatic effects outdo each other, men and things seem set in sparkling diamonds, ecstasy is the order of the day--but they are short-lived, soon they have reached their zenith, and a long Katzenjammer [hangover] takes hold of society before it learns to assimilate the results of its storm-and-stress period soberly. On the other hand, proletarian revolutions, like those of the nineteenth century, constantly criticize themselves, constantly interrupt themselves in their own course, return to the apparently accomplished, in order to begin anew; they deride with cruel thoroughness the half-measures, weaknesses, and paltriness of their first attempts, seem to throw down their opponents only so the latter may draw new strength from the earth and rise before them again more gigantic than ever, recoil constantly from the indefinite colossalness of their own goals--until a situation is created which makes all turning back impossible, and the conditions themselves call out: "Hier ist die Rose, hier tanze' [Here is the rose, here the dance]."