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Outrage

An Anarchist Memoir of the Penal Colony

PM Press

Rebelled Because It Was My Right

January 1887. Brief summary of the examination:

After the usual formalities — the comedy — first and last names, occupation, etc. I was accused of robbery, arson, and attempted murder.

"In 1878 you were sentenced to one year in prison."

"Yes, and I take full responsibility for this conviction."

"In 1883 you were sentenced to forty-eight hours in jail for rebellion against police officers."

"Yes, I rebelled against your police because it was my right."

"You stand accused of illegal entry, of breaking and entering into the residence of Madame Lemaire, a person of private means, and taking from her fifteen thousand francs' worth of jewelry on the night of October 4, 1886."

"Yes, parasites should not have jewelry when the workers, the producers do not have bread. I have only one regret: that I did not find the money that I was intending to use for revolutionary propaganda, otherwise I would not be here in the hot seat, but busy making devices to blow you all up."

"The prosecution has shown that you had an accomplice and you said that his name was Turquais and that he was in England to sell the jewelry. This Turquais is a figment of your imagination or else tell us where he is."

"Let your snitches go look for him!"

"Didier and Houchard are your accomplices."

"No. Both are completely unaware of the provenance of the brooch I gave Houchard to sell as a jeweler since I needed money right away for ... He's an idiot, he used go-betweens and he's the reason I'm here."

"The pliers they found were rather extraordinary. You said to the examining judge that you made them yourself."

"Yes, I also said that I had made them a long time ago, I was just waiting for the right time to use them because I had been convinced for a long time that the workers were powerless to fight with their own resources and that only on the day when they would have the courage to smash the safes of their masters and exploiters would they come out of the struggle victorious ..."

Bérard des Glajeux, the presiding judge, rattled his bell because he did not want to listen to such truths anymore and he threatened to throw me out for proudly proclaiming in open court the right to steal. The rat, he knew better than anyone that I was invoking the right to insurrection. Yes! In this century of the worship of the Golden Calf all means are good for anarchists to bring about the triumph of the grand ideal of social renovation and regeneration based on liberty, equality, morality, and justice. Yes, rotten and corrupted bourgeoisie, your gold is needed to wage war against you, to annihilate forever the class struggle of which it is the main cause, and not to enjoy it. Vile metal that we despise and will destroy after the struggle, just like the qualifications of private income and property, in order to share between everyone. That is what I had to say, which Bérard did not want to hear.

"So, for you it wasn't robbery?"

"No, it was a just restitution. This money, I repeat, was bound to be used for revolutionary propaganda. I know only two kinds of theft: theft through the exploitation of man by man in business — legal theft; and that which strips the bourgeoisie, the thieves, in order to enjoy it instead of them. But then that thief in turn becomes a parasite and consequently an enemy. That's who the thieves are. As for me, no one who has known me closely since my youth will criticize me for any dishonest act. But to serve the revolution — I got over all kinds of prejudices a long time ago.

"You were demoted from the rank of corporal for insubordination."

"I was named corporal in spite of myself and a bunch of times I wanted to turn in my stripes, but they wouldn't let me. See, at the time I was an anarchist without knowing the theories, only through natural common sense — I hated authority. You criticize me for having been demoted from the rank of corporal, but you don't talk about the two wounds I got during the war, idiot that I was! Just like the rheumatism, an awful sickness, that I got in that murderous comedy of 1870 [against the Prussians]."

"You are accused of having set fire, in two different places, to the residence of Madame Lemaire on the night of October 4. You told the investigating judge that it was Turquais who lit the two fires and that you had done everything possible to prevent him from doing this, your reason being that it was a nice, very comfortable house and that you should keep it safe for the day of the Revolution when the workers would leave their slums, and that in this house there was room for eight or ten families to live there comfortably. But being angry that he did not find what he was looking for he didn't want to listen to you and avenged himself by trying to harm the parasites who lived in the house."

The Presiding Judge: "It is an act of horrendous vandalism."

"Yes, those are the reasons I gave to Turquais before he lit the fire because the parasites weren't in the house to be grilled. But don't think because of this that I renounce arsonists. On the contrary, I approve of the labor slave who burns the prison where they exploit him; by this he destroys the symbol of servitude and slavery ..."

My last words were not heard by the public. Glajeux rattled his bell and spoke so loudly to shut me up that he drowned out my voice.

"You are accused of the attempted murder of Sergeant Rossignol. When this officer was investigating Didier with the chief of detectives, Didier's wife pointed you out as Duval to the officer. He asked you to follow him to talk to the chief of detectives. You answered that you had no business with him and he wasn't one of your friends. Seeing this, the officer identified himself as a sergeant of the police and arrested you in the name of the law. You answered him: 'Ah! Scum, in the name of freedom I'll strike you down!' And you stabbed him eight times with a handmade dagger, intending to kill him."

"I only struck Sergeant Rossignol twice and not eight times. If I'd stabbed him eight times, being all worked up by the surprise at being arrested as I was, he would probably not be here to testify. It was a scratch, a scrape that he got when we fell off the sidewalk. Unfortunately, he dragged me down with him in his fall, otherwise neither he nor Officer Pelletier, who was with him, would have arrested me."

"So, you would have killed them both?"

"No, I would have defended my freedom. But I couldn't. Officer Pelletier right away took advantage of my fall by grabbing me by my throat and my private parts; and Rossignol was able too get hold of my right thumb and bite it."

* * *

Mr. [Fernand] Labori summoned two comrades who knew me closely, Ricois and Bronsin, but both refused to take the oath and raise their hand before the image of Rufano [it most probably means Christ, but the signification has not been found]. At Labori's request Bérard postponed the hearing for ten minutes. Labori went to talk with my two friends, but they remained firm in their convictions.

When the hearing resumed, my comrade Ricois was called first. Des Glajeux then read in a fat tome that in accordance with such and such article of the law, for refusing the oath, the court fined him one hundred francs.

Then I yelled to him, "Hey, Ricois, aren't you going to say thank you? You see these people here, they don't need to break down doors to get money. In accordance with such and such article of the law and there you go, one hundred francs!"

He answered, "What do you expect? The government of the bourgeois Republic needs money."

Then it was the turn of my comrade Bronsin, who is very deaf and made Glajeux repeat his request two or three times. Then you should have seen all those slimy individuals, all those hacks of the bourgeois and reactionary press make fun of the old man's, the old worker's disability. You have no idea how painful it was for me not to be able to avenge the insult given to this worthy and loyal friend. Ah! If those four henchmen weren't next to me.

"So, do you want to raise your hand and take the oath?"

"No, I formally refuse. Ask me whatever you want about Duval, his public or private life, I'll answer you. But to raise my hand before this image? Never!"

Like Ricois, he was fined one hundred francs. Bronsin is a sixty-nine-year-old man with a white beard and white hair, a very good gunsmith, sought out even by the exploiters when he was young. But when your beard and hair turn white, you are no longer respected by the moneyed people with whom you collaborated. "I don't need you anymore, lowlife worker, despicable mob, go, go now and die like a dog in a hole somewhere." That is what happened to Bronsin after a dozen years working for the same exploiter — after he had made its fortune. The son took over the shop and soon afterward informed our friend that he had to find another job, not that he had complaints about his work, but because he was too impassioned; and then he started insulting the socialists and revolutionaries. Bronsin is an extremely loyal man, the most honest I know. He told me sometimes, "I would like to live in a glass house so that the actions of my life could be checked." I want to show our friend's character because I think that the police will have a sorry welcome when they show up to collect the 100 franc fine. Moreover, I love to talk about him; I love him like a father.

* * *

[The next day] Mr. Renaud, the prosecutor, took the floor. I cannot complain about him much. He played his role pretty well. He said that it was very lucky that I fell into the hands of justice since I was, as I had said the day before, a man of action, capable of using dynamite and the most lethal devices to serve the anarchist ideal; that he was dealing with utopia because he saw the progress that this noble ideal was making, so goodbye to all kinds of privileges. Like his fellow bourgeoisie he was scared. Not being able to smear me in my public or private life, he treated me as an enemy of society (of the current society, he was right). He concluded by asking for my head and almost for the acquittal of Houchard and Didier, my two codefendants.

I asked to speak in response — formal refusal by Bérard.

The floor was given to Mr. Labori and he made a great speech for the defense. From the newspaper Le Révolté he read several letters of comrades expressing their solidarity with the act that had put me in the hot seat, since they knew my motive and goal. He dealt with the anarchist theories pretty well. Even though he did not share our ideal, he found it noble and grand, but he was bourgeois — there was a conflict of interests: he owned things and did not want to lose them.

I made his job easy because I had given him my whole life story.

Bérard des Glajeux asked me if I had something to say after my defense attorney's plea and before the Court entered deliberation.

"Yes, I have to tell you what my motive was and the goal I was trying to reach."

I began my defense, but Bérard, from the very first words, sensing that I had too much truth to tell and that I was going to uncover the social wounds, tried to shut me up. I kept going. Shaking of the bell, threat of expulsion. There was an uproar in the courtroom and he threatened to clear it out. Silence was restored. I kept going. After a few more words, ringing of the bell. Bérard des Glajeux was white as a sheet. He took the book and in accordance with such and such article of the law he had me thrown out by his henchmen. I had to finish by yelling out several times at the top of my lungs, "Long live the Social Revolution! Long live Anarchy!" All my fellow citizens and all my comrades joined in. Six cops took me away to the Conciergerie [prison in Paris].

Fifty thousand copies of my Defense Statement were printed and not a single one remained unsold.

The Statement of Clément Duval

Although I don't recognize your right to question me and demand from me what you have, I've answered you as the accused.

Now, I am the accuser. I won't pretend to defend myself. What would be the point in front of people as well armed as you are, with your soldiers, guns, police, and this whole army of mercenaries who have become your guard dogs.

Let's be logical, you have the force, take advantage of it, and if you need the head of an anarchist, take it. The day of settlement will take this into account and I really hope that on that day the anarchists will measure up to their task and be pitiless, since their victims will never equal the number of yours!

I'm not talking just to you, but to all of society, that cruel mother, that selfish, corrupt society where we see orgy on one side and misery on the other!

You charge me with robbery, as if a worker who owns nothing can be a robber.

No, robbery exists only in the exploitation of man by man, in short, by those who live at the expense of the working class. It is not a robbery I committed, but a just restitution done in the name of humanity. The money was meant for revolutionary propaganda in writing and deed. It was going to be used to print newspapers and pamphlets in order to reveal the truth to the people — they've been deceived for long enough — and to show the cure to whoever feels sick.

It was going to be used for devising and building what's necessary for the day of battle, the day when the workers will wake up and snap out of their apathy and lifelessness. For it's time that this diabolical plot of the old world disappear to make way for institutions where everyone will find a more equitable lot, which exists only in anarchist communities.

Because Anarchy is the negation of all authority.

And authority is the biggest social wound because man is not free and man should be free to do whatever he wants, as long as he doesn't infringe on the freedom of his fellow men — or else he becomes a despot in turn.

In communism man contributes to society according to his abilities and his strengths; he should receive according to his needs. Men form groups and seek one another out according to their characters, abilities, and affinities, taking as a model the group that works best, rejecting vanity and stupid pride, looking only to do better than his comrade so that his comrade might do better himself.

Then we'll get useful masterpieces out of this, no more minds reduced to nothing by capital because men will be able evolve freely, no longer being under the despotic yoke of authority and individual ownership. And these groups will exchange their products with one another without restrictions.

They will learn about and feel the benefits of governing themselves and they will be federalized and make up a great family of workers all joined together for the happiness of all — one for all, all for one — recognizing only one law: the law of solidarity, of reciprocity.

No more gold, that vile metal that is the reason I am here and that I despise. Vile metal, cause of all the evils, of all the vices that afflict humanity. Vile metal with which they buy the consciences of men.

With anarchist communism no more exploitation of man by man, no more of these sweat-eaters, no more of these mercenary, predatory, selfish, poisoning shopkeepers who falsify their products and their goods and degenerate the human race. You cannot deny it because you are even forced to watch over the sellers of children's toys who poison them so young with their toys for poor, little, barely born creatures.

And those factories where they risk the workers' lives with unparalleled shamelessness, like the white lead factories where after a few months the workers become paralyzed and often die ... the makers of mercury glass who quickly become bald, paralytic, have decayed bones, and die in hideous suffering!

Well, there are scientists who know that we can replace these unhealthy products with others that are harmless. Doctors who see these poor people writhing in such cruel agonies and who let this crime, this outrage against humanity, be committed. They go even further and reward the factory bosses; they bestow honorary awards on them in memory of the service they render to industry and humanity.

And how many of these unhealthy industries are there? Too many to count them all and I won't even mention the foul and unhealthy capitalist labor camps where the worker is imprisoned for ten or twelve hours a day and just to keep a little of his family's bread is forced to suffer the put-downs and humiliation of an arrogant slave driver who only needs a whip to remind us of the good old days of ancient slavery and medieval serfdom.

And those poor miners, imprisoned five or six hundred feet under ground, seeing the light of day no more than once a week and when they are exhausted by so much misery and suffering and lift up their heads to reclaim their right to the sun and to life's banquet — an army at the service of the exploiters quickly takes the field and shoots the rabble! There's plenty of proof.

And the exploitation of man by man is nothing compared to that of woman. Nature, which is so ungrateful in this respect, makes her sickly fifteen days a month, but they don't care: flesh for profit, flesh for pleasure — that's the fate of woman. So many young girls coming from the country, strong and healthy, whom they imprison in workshops, rooms only big enough for four and there are fifteen or twenty of them squeezed in, so they don't have enough air to breathe — only foul air. And with the hardships they're forced to suffer, they're anemic after six months. These poor women become sick, weak, and disgusted with work that doesn't fulfill their needs and then they are led to prostitution.

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Excerpted from Outrage by Clément Duval, Michael Sherve. Copyright © 2012 Michael Shreve. Excerpted by permission of PM Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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