social anxiety in radical spaces.

radical love letter | a reader asks for advice

A quick note: as you’ll see below, today’s letter is in response to a reader request. Responding to it reminded me a lot of my old days of writing an advice column, and it was really fun to return to that genre. If I keep getting questions from folks (this is your invitation to send some!), I’ll make this a Wednesday special feature.

no fungi without mycelium. no life without connection.

When you subscribe to the newsletter, the automatic reply includes a note of thanks and also an invitation to send requests for topics/content you’d like to see. It’s rare that people respond, but I always love when they do, and I was particularly eager to write about the subject below. It’s a question I’ve been asked, in some variation, quite a bit. A new subscriber asks: 

“I think your writing is wonderful. Could you maybe write something about overcoming social anxiety? The kind that keeps one isolated from joining groups, collectives, etc. out of fear of not being accepted, because some hard Left spaces have become hierarchical and shun the new folks? Thank you.” 

Dear new friend,

One of my most vivid memories from high school is, unsurprisingly, one that included intense feelings of anxiety, followed shortly after by a palpable humiliation. I write about it in my memoir, and unlike some other scenes I highlight in the book, the details of this particular incident emerged crisp and vivid in my mind. My body remembered the heat on my cheeks, the somersaults in my stomach, the feeling that I was constantly fucking up….This horror I’m referencing was my first time at Food Not Bombs (FNB), the anarchist group that cooks and shares food in public places with anyone who wants it. 

I was seventeen when the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan began, and in my burgeoning awareness that I was anti-war and anti-patriotism, I wanted to meet and know people who felt the same. For better and for worse, I had a short-lived romance with an anarchist, punk rock barista who was not very nice to me, but who definitely taught me a lot about radical politics, including that Cleveland had a local FNB chapter. We broke up, but I was determined to be a part of radical community, and so I trembled my way to the second floor apartment that belonged to an old Lefty who lent his kitchen to the cause. With the exception of one person, everyone there seemed cold, suspicious, and annoyed that I didn’t already know everything about everything. The truly humiliating moment came when I asked the anarchist why his cat was named “Emma.” If it had been a movie, a record would have scratched to a halt as every face turned towards me in shock and judgment. It was not a comfortable space, and that I made it back there ever again is a feat I’m still not entirely sure how I managed. 

I share this story for a few reasons. The first is to say that, obviously, you are not alone in thinking radical spaces are often intimidating and unwelcoming. The generous interpretation of this is that far-Left groups are a constant target of state repression and radicals have good reason to be mistrustful of new people. The less generous interpretation is that Lefty spaces just become their own version of a clubhouse, where members recreate middle school clique vibes and get a high off of knowing things that other people don’t — niche trivia about dead revolutionaries, what every acronym means, having the Correct Analysis, and so on. Of course that’s not the case across the board, but it’s common enough at this point to have become a stereotype.

I know I haven’t answered your question yet. I could offer you generic, albeit useful, tips on social anxiety that would apply to a variety of situations: you could invite a friend to join you at an event or meeting; you could practice some breathing techniques to reduce acute stress; you could do some confidence mantras in the mirror. I’m not against any of those things, but my guess is that you’ve probably thought about and/or tried them with only partial success. The real crux of your question, I think, is about a deep desire to belong in spaces and with people who share your passions and commitments; people and spaces that are in the service of bettering this world. 

Reflecting on that leads me to ask questions back your way: what groups do you consider to be hard Left? What are the criteria for you? (These are not snarky questions, these are genuine information-gathering queries). Certainly I know the way it feels to want to be part of the group that most looks/sounds/feels the part — whether for you that’s punk-listening anarchists, or bookish sounding socialists, or crunchy vibed environmentalists (or anything in between). But if those groups make it feel hard to join, could you expand your definition of what makes a worthwhile collective, and look towards the ones that seem more inviting? Maybe that means working at your community garden with a bunch of normie parents, or joining a reading group at a public library for a sci-fi book that has political undertones, or practicing strengthening your social muscles by getting to know your neighbors (one of the most radical things we can do, to be honest!). I think a lot about how my mom — decidedly not a punk-looking Anarchist™— does more mutual aid work than any radical-identified person I know, all through actively participating in her local Buy Nothing Facebook group, where she regularly volunteers to pick up free items and deliver them to elderly or disabled neighbors. 

I hope it’s clear that part of my reason for suggesting groups other than the official Cool Kid groups is because the problem of non-inclusive radical spaces is not a you problem, it is a radical culture problem. We —- and I say ‘we’ only after two+ decades of being a part of radical culture, many, many moments of which I have felt like an outsider — have to be better at welcoming people into the movement. Yes, we have to practice security culture, and yes it is human to want to talk ‘inside baseball’ without explaining it all the time, but gosh there has to be a balance. And if a group is giving you really alienating vibes then it’s not doing the kind of radical work I’m particularly interested in. I want to fight isolation, not create more of it. (As a side note, I think people on the internet are worse at this, even more than most people in IRL spaces. And dear gods, I definitely don’t want to be a part of anarchist cliques on Twitter.) 

In the words of Margaret Killjoy: “what if radical movements erred on the side of inclusion instead of exclusion. wouldn’t that be wild. what if we replaced gatekeepers with ushers and helped people find where they belong.” 

Thankfully, there are lots of radical people and groups who are actively trying to work against this culture of exclusion, and definitely people trying to work against hierarchy. (A quick note on that: anarchist groups, in theory, will be organizing in non-hierarchical ways; Marxist/socialist groups may not have that as a goal at all. So, just know what you’re getting into from a theoretical basis; Reddit or Wikipedia might be good tools for digging up info on theoretical tendencies.) Check in with your gut— maybe there’s a group that’s ready for you, and you do just need to do some breathing exercises. 

Here’s a more concrete idea: one of my favorite tips to recommend to people who are struggling to find an ever-elusive ‘community’, but who still want to feel like they are participating in radical work, is to start writing to people in prison. Anarchist Black Cross and Black and Pink are two places you can look for pen pals and information on how to approach that kind of correspondence. You could host a letter writing night with people who are already your friends, you could put out a call on social media inviting folks to write with you, or you could just write by yourself (and will very likely end up finding connections with other folks who do prison support). 

I’ll end by sharing something I’ve realized only after years and years of trying to figure out how to exist comfortably in this meat suit. When I was most afraid of being accepted by anarchists, it was because I thought that in order to be an anarchist that was all I could be. For example, I knew it would be cool to be into punk (which I was), but not so cool to be into mainstream movies, let alone Hollywood award shows (which longtime readers know I very much am into). My desire to fit in radical spaces also fucked with my gender journey — there were some spaces where I would be the only person not in tight black jeans, not wearing a politcal and/or punk tee shirt, not in some very weathered combat boot, and definitely the only one wearing makeup. So, for a long time, I would shift how I dressed in certain spaces; that led to more social ease, but also to more body discomfort. The good news is that today I show up to spaces wearing whatever the fuck I want (acrylic nails, wedge sandals, and all), and let the reality of my containing-multitudes personality show up too. All my favorite anarchists are complex people who talk about things other than anarchy. 

I have a hunch this might be helpful for you to know, too. Social anxiety can be the unhappy cousin to feeling like we’re not enough. Or feeling like we’re too much. Or that something about us is not quite right. Like I said, it took me years, and some of my current confidence is probably just what happens when you’re a femme pushing 40, but, listen: whatever thing you’re insecure about, whatever thing you worry might not be accepted in radical subcultures? We need it. We need your weird hobby, we need your guilty pleasure, we need your random expertise in some thing that will end up helping us in the ongoing apocalypse. You’re invited to the revolution because it wouldn’t be one if you weren’t here.

love & solidarity,

raechel