Growing up in the city I did, at the time I did, and surrounded with the ideas that I was, I consider myself extremely lucky. Both because I was exposed to so many different viewpoints but also so much culture as well. Music that would've been harder to find outside the Ann Arbor city limits thrived there. Independent films were screened regularly at more than a couple of the city's historic theaters. There was always room for another voice, a new opinion, or line of logic. As long as it respected others and adhered to the concept of free speech, all were welcomed with open arms.
An honest truth about myself is this: at some point in my adolescence, I unconsciously became very disenfranchised with the world around me and that energy materialized into a self-destructive nature. Back then I suppose I considered myself “punk.” Not for the tears in my shirts or chipped teeth I suffered at an Anti-Flag show (which I'm sure I wore around as a badge of honor.) But more so, from the way I thought. No idea or theory was too outrageous as long as the person putting it forth could back it up or at the very least, explain it in very simple terms. There was no room for ego in the circles I ran with and I liked that. We were all one great big dysfunctional family.
I knew some better than others. For instance, one friend was a singer of a local four-piece thrash band. She sported zero tattoos and no piercings. Yet, when the guitars began screeching behind her on stage, she'd let the chaos envelop her entire body and would spend half the show rolling around the dirty floor like a mad-woman. So, appearance came second to true personality. I’d often go to the Trumbullplex—, an anarchist collective smack dead in the heart of Detroit's Cass Corridor—, for shows, art exhibits and often, just to party with like-minded people. Nobody cared how dyed your hair was or how many scars you wore atop your skin. If you were a decent human being and respected others, you'd be considered a friend. They didn't try converting hippies into liberty spike-sporting cynics. They had opinions but wouldn't bash you for not listening to anarcho-punk. As long as your message was one of equality and free speech, they'd be proud to raise their fists alongside yours.
I say all of this because the one thing we all agreed on, no matter where we’d land on political spectrums or if Strike Anywhere was getting soft, was that we were against oppression. Oppression of any kind was the absolute enemy. A cop who overstepped his boundaries. A clergyman who preached love during the day but would whip his children senseless at night. We hated all of it. We tried to keep our wits about us and figure out ways to combat this sickness. We were passionate about our subculture. Never in my life, however, did I ever witness one of these people attack or violently force another human being into accepting their way of thinking. If we'd come across nay-sayers (and often did), who spouted nothing but racism, sexism, or hatred of any kind, we'd simply ignore them and go about our day. Never did we consider any type of “recruitment” or “conversion” to our side of things. The thought never crossed our minds because quite frankly, it's preposterous to carry that kind of logic beyond elementary school.
Man 1: I dislike coconut cake.
Man 2: Coconut cake is delicious and not saying so goes against everything I stand for. Either you agree with my viewpoint or I am legally able to kill you.
Man 1: We can't just agree to disagree while living side by side in harmony?
Man 2: No. I am told that sometime long ago, there was a law which was passed specifically demanding that I kill all who disagree with this line of thinking. Lacking the insight to question its validity, let alone its logic, I of course follow blindly and wholeheartedly.
That isn't comedy. It isn't supposed to read as funny or witty or tongue-in-cheek. It's as sad and depressing as you must feel at this very second, knowing full-well that while it's just an example, Man 2 is very real and very ready to obliterate all who do not think exactly like him. There is no room for discourse. All opposing viewpoints are erased like a communist regime. All talk which is against the ruling party is silenced, those individual voices never to be heard from again. There is no living peacefully, side by side. Man 2 does not want neighbors who do not look identical to him, who do not speak and sound exactly as he does, who do not harbor the same type of hatred he so deeply latches onto.
When I'd run around the broken streets of random downtowns with my friends, so many lifetimes ago, we knew things were bad. We'd always known the world was a sad, miserable place. So we'd armor ourselves before taking on the days—, with open-mindedness, with knowledge, with respect for one another and even for those who didn't agree with us. It was a fun time in my life which I think back to often. I can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of pride in all of us. That even though we endured scraped knuckles, broken homes, and friends who we'd lose to drugs and depression, we stuck it out and loved one another and our fellow man. No matter the religion, belief, political party, or past. We were brats sometimes, but never monsters. We banded together, but had our own individualities.
Some have a hive mentality which they'll go to the ends of the earth for. They’ll quite literally, go to their graves in displaying. We loved our culture, but we never put it above our individual hopes and dreams. Our hearts were ours. Our hearts are ours. Not a collective's to use at will and claim them in the name of oppression and regression.
I'd say I miss those days of being reckless. But if I’m really honest with myself, my mind is just as open today as it was back then. There's more knowledge and rationale now, but the eagerness of continued learning and drawing conclusions from it is just as pivotal to my overall character as it’s ever been.
Man 2 has no personality. He is his hive.
I still love Strike Anywhere and truly dislike coconut cake. I am myself.