I fancy myself rather like an elder in Life’s metaphorical Nyala herd—still brandishing formidable horns and a robust fighting spirit, though rather battle-scarred, street-wise, and admittedly short of patience. I’ve come to believe that certain souls enter this world with an innate, genuine sense of moral outrage, one that can find its voice only through meaningful and productive endeavour. Rather poignant, isn’t it, that ‘action’ forms the very heart of the word ‘activist’?
In ’73, at the tender age of eleven, I penned a verse about pollution for a school assignment. My inspiration, curiously enough, came from the ‘Archie’ comics, whose ‘Letters’ page brimmed with poems addressing the pressing environmental concerns of the day—rather visionary material, penned by a juvenile readership. Through this rather serendipitous endeavour, I discovered the remarkable power of social action when my modest poem garnered international accolades and drew considerable attention both to and from my generation, despite the contentious nature of the subject matter.
During the turbulent 1980s, in my early twenties, I was rather hot-headed—afflicted with that peculiar ‘angry young man’ syndrome—and a politically-engaged university student. My transformation into an anti-apartheid activist stemmed not merely from sympathy for the oppressed, but from the logical absurdity of condemning an entire race for the misdeeds of those deliberately deprived of education. This contradiction wreaked havoc upon my moral compass, and I simply couldn’t reconcile it. Consequently, I found myself embroiled in challenging the system, ultimately paying the price through brief detention without trial. This period led me to immerse myself in the works of Pyotr Alexeyevich Kropotkin, that remarkable Russian activist, and truly grasp the moral principle of ‘mutual aid’. This crystallised my political—or perhaps more accurately, non-political—ethical code, emphasising the transformative power of collective action, where people working in concert achieve far more than any hierarchical government ever could.
During my rather mandatory military service from 1984 to 1985—undertaken to avoid a lifetime of imprisonment (I was certainly no Mandela)—I would respond to queries about my political stance with the rather cheeky retort, “to the left of communism”. This bit of cheek was duly reported, resulting in a court-martial and the rather theatrical stripping of my rank beneath the scorching Namibian sun during parade. This period afforded me a rather stark firsthand glimpse of the preservation of an autocratic and bigoted ruling power, and the systematic brainwashing required to maintain it. I witnessed young chaps, barely out of school, cheering the brutal massacre of women and children in traditional villages by their fellow soldiers.
My environmental crusade continued, with one particularly cherished project involving the relocation of Giant African Bullfrogs (Pyxiecephalus Adspersus) to their ancestral waterways. These magnificent creatures hibernate for up to eight years, emerging from their earthen sanctuaries when precisely the right amount of rainfall occurs, engaging in a rather spectacular frenzy of feeding and reproduction. Due to rather aggressive real estate development, they had found themselves on the endangered list. I possess rather touching photographs of my young children carrying these massive amphibians, and I take particular pride in having been bitten by a rather distinguished male estimated to be about forty-five years old. You see, I’m rather convinced that environmental resistance is futile unless one’s heart and mind are fully committed to the required action.
In 1990, I had the rather extraordinary privilege of briefly encountering the iconic Nelson Mandela at Ellis Park, a sports stadium in Johannesburg, South Africa, during a music festival shortly after his release from prison. When I say “encounter”, it was more of a fleeting moment or two, for his charisma and presence were so utterly overwhelming—rather like walking into a brick wall, if you will. In this brief exchange, I learned rather profoundly about the power of personality and the serene, unshakeable conviction required for effective social change.
As an advocate of anarcho-capitalism (believing that leaderless competition fosters the finest outcomes in and for societies), I frequently encountered rather spirited objections once I explained that anarchism doesn’t necessarily imply chaos. It’s not about those rather cartoonish round bombs (disregarding the Anarchist’s Cookbook), black flags, or riotous disorder—an interpretation rather enthusiastically perpetuated by Big Media for dramatic effect. Critics argued that such a society was rather impractical in the present day, placing too much responsibility on a rather disorganised, dependent, escapist, and entitled humanity, unwilling to recognise or acknowledge a problem or situation.
However, twenty-two years ago, I confronted my addiction disorder and joined recovery peer-based fellowships, where I experienced genuine and effective anarchism firsthand. Everyone came together, in rather remarkable solidarity and communion, working collectively to ensure the sustainability of the organisation for future generations, without directly-expressed rules or the heavy hand of authority. It came down to a willingness to abandon all the posturing, simply to get things done and build lives.
In 2009, I ventured to the North-West Province of South Africa to construct a road leading to a school for an indigenous community governed by an ancestral chief. During construction, we were required by conditional legislation—based on the empowerment principle of Apartheid restitution—to repair collapsed boreholes for the community, source our labour force locally, and we went so far as to “donate” our temporary construction yard to be used as a vegetable garden, complete with a rather impressive high-security fence. Additionally, we assisted in earth-turning and de-silting the community dam. This prompted me to enquire of a headman why I hadn’t yet been asked for a bribe, as payola is a rather prevalent, crippling issue in the country, exacerbating and insinuating into every nook and cranny of the social structure today. I was informed that while bribes solely benefit the individual receiving them, contributions to the community benefit everyone, including the intended beneficiaries. This deepened my understanding of the native principle of “Ubuntu”—a rather profound, keen, and rather elegant element of the African communal psyche, and yet another example of practical anarchism in action.
I rather firmly believe that anarchic principles offer the finest approach to mitigating climate change, as they transcend politics, permissions, and authority. They enable individuals and their communities to reclaim independence, power, and sovereignty over their reality and practical environments.
I identify myself as an environmental anarchist and am rather intense—in the absolute sense—willing to visibly advocate for change in these rather apocalyptic times. I don’t believe that spraying buildings red or vandalising the gardens of oil companies serves any authentic purpose in advancing the material aspects of global heating mitigation. Such tactics, invented and rather overused by Greenpeace, are so last-century and have no place in the current urgency and complexity of the environmental crisis.
I rather believe that all my experiences on the various fronts of social issues have converged to bring me to this moment. The right to survive as present-day humans and secure the futures of our children, ensuring the survival of as many species as possible, surpasses the rather tiresome manipulations of politics and the influence of big commerce. It transcends the principles and possessions we collectively hold dear.