Recipes for Disaster: an anarchist cookbook

That's where George came in?hanging on the end of a rope. Our effigy had a cloth-covered foam rubber head stuffed into a rubber Bush mask. He wore a dumpstered business suit (public figures sometimes dress down for the masses) and a pair of red boxing gloves. For an entourage, he had drummers, banner-bearers, stilt-walking capitalist puppeteers and their corporate marionettes, and, of course, the ladies and gentlemen of "the press." One of our number played the ringside announcer, dressed in a tux and wielding a megaphone. He was the ham: "Get into the ring and take a swing at the king!" "Introducing?in the left comer, we have the challenger?^uh, what's your name, sir.^" "Texas, Afghanistan, Iraq ... Chapel Hill, YOU'RE NEXT!"

In fact, to our delight, we found that the crowd needed very little encouragement. On our way to the event, a taxi driver with Hmited English pulled over just to give the commander in chief a tidy thumping. With a little coaching and encouragement, chuckling liberals would give a symbolic tap on the nose?but most folks took it to the Prez with vicious abandon. The tightly fitted mask was knocked clean off the "dummy" too many times to count. Over and over the "puppet" was ripped from our hands by a hail of fists. When he crumpled to the ground, the crowd would commence kicking and jumping on his body in a manner we are more accustomed to seeing cops use on poor people. Each individual's response to the effigy seemed to refiect the particular level of repression he or she suffered at the hands of the regime: members of the demoralized and depressed but safe classes tended to give a little tap; those demographically most likely to face state violence were themselves ultra-violent. Effig/es After three hours of continuous assaults, our dummy was almost completely demol-

252 ished. Hundreds had dealt blows. Thousands had watched in astonishment at the anger

his presence inspired. Everyone knew how things would go down if the head of state found himself on the mean streets of Chapel Hill without his bodyguards.

As usual, what carried the event was humor and good cheer. I hardly stopped laughing for three hours straight. This atmosphere left little opportunity for the few pro-Bush folks to try anything, and the spectacle of the vast majority of the crowd doing violence to their figurehead of choice helped deter them from threatening violence themselves. Every now and then a troubled Republican would come up to the Prez, saying something like, "You're a good man, you've got my vote in '04." Bush would respond by socking them in the face! Such realism!

In sum: as keen observers, we feel that it is our patriotic duty to report what could be construed as latent feelings of violence, resentment, and readiness to brawl directed at the President of the United States of America. Now let's get something straight: we do not suggest or condone engaging in fisticuffs with the President, When dealing with the President, we strongly advise against uppercuts, crushing rights, left hooks, jabs, roundhouse kicks, knuckle sandwiches, resounding smacks, boots in the ass or crotch area, blows to the ribs or face, haymakers, boxing of ears, or any combination of bonks, thwacks, swats, or pokes. If you are concerned about the world and want to effect change, such roughhousing is simply unacceptable. We recommend going through the established channels: being ultra-rich, rigging elections, and allowdng airplanes to fly into buildings.

Effigies 233

Evasion

Instructions

Getting the Fuck Outta There toi

234

The art of escape is one of those things that can't be taught, least of all by books: you have to learn it on your feet. All the same, it's good for us to talk and write about such things, to demystify them and help each other build up the confidence for that learning process.