Richard G. Mitchell Jr. spent more than a dozen years among survivalists at public conferences, private meetings, and clandestine training camps across America. He takes us inside a compelling, hidden world more connected to the chaos of modern life many of us experience than the label "separatist" suggests. In survivalism Mitchell found a profound and meaningful critique of contemporary industrial society, a subculture in which the real evil is not repressive government but the far more insidious influence of a "Planet Microsoft" mentality with its abundance of empty choices. Survivalists, Mitchell shows us, are seeking resistance, not struggling against it; they are looking for ways to define themselves and test their talents in a society that is becoming devitalized and formless.
The Coffeehouse
Friday night, 11:30. The trendy coffeehouse near the beach in Santa Monica
is packed. The after-something crowd turns out to critique Los Angeles'
performing arts over lattes and cappuccinos. I'm working on this
manuscript in the corner. Two movie industry executives take the table
next to mine. Both are fashionably thin and tanned (it is December). She:
late thirties, wearing a short, fur-trimmed vest, a silk blouse with
little holding it together in front, boots, and a long velour skirt, slit
from ankle to mid-thigh. He: forties, wearing designer-wrinkled olive
linen pants and a matching jacket over another designer's sweater and
accent scarf. His beard looks as shampooed and permed as their hairdos.
They have just come from a preview screening of their studio's next action
moneymaker (Bruce Willis does something violent and heroic).
They talk shop, drifting comfortably back and forth between English and
French. He jokes. She coos. They discuss distribution and marketing, the
nutty flavor of soy milk intheir lattes, the script revisions that should
have been made. Then comes accounting, percentages and bonuses, how and
how much they stand to profit. With money imaginarily in the bank, it is
time for survivalism.
They speak of their stock and options. Then with cheery pessimism they
concur: the stock market can't last much longer. Yes. Oui. Agreeing nods.
It is probably time to sell, to protect themselves.
Both: A crash is coming.
He: Perhaps it's even planned.
She: The insiders will know.
He: There is a priority list of those who
will be told, who can get their money out
before it all goes under.
She: We should buy a little place, some
land we could live off.
He: There isn't any left. All the land is
too expensive.
She: I heard about a this place, just
across the bay from where we stayed at
Puerto Vallarta.
He: What's it like?
She: It's a little island. Practically no one
lives there. They don't have electricity,
just candles and kerosene. We could
grow our own garden and catch fish. It
never gets cold.
Parable
It is a brave new world. Decades of stifling government regulations are
finally gone. Business opportunities flourish. Inflation is low, growth
brisk. There is uncertainty of course, but the possibilities seem vast.
Marketeers with modern savvy and methods, and glittering offers, reach
small, rural, working-class investors. Little bits of capital, together,
will create big leverage, big profits, high returns and solid futures,
they say. Even the government approves, or seems to. People listen, dig
into their savings, invest. Profits begin to pour in-for some. The rest
wait their turns, encouraged by the marketeers' testimonials and small
payments. Months go by. Real jobs diminish. Real prices soar. There are
flaws in the plan. Capital does not capitalize production but is consumed
by the marketeers, the top of the pyramid. The schemes begin to collapse,
first privately then in public announcements. The government freezes the
marketeers' remaining assets but little is left and few care. The schemes
have failed. The government that encouraged them has failed.
In the south, protesters take to the streets, raid government arms depots,
blockade roads, call for the president and his government to resign. In
the capital, riot police beat back rebellious throngs, killing dozens,
wounding hundreds. Enraged bands take control of regional governments.
Federal jets bomb insurgent villagers in their homes. The president
announces his government is stepping down. The next day Congress declares
a national state of emergency and imposes a curfew and media censorship.
The day after that, Congress reappoints the president.
Rebellion spreads from the rural south to populous centers throughout the
country. The military effectively collapses. Armed vigilante squads roam
the streets, unleashing indiscriminate automatic weapons fire. Rescue
helicopters attempting to evacuate foreign nationals are hit, shoot back.
The loose opposition finds a name: The Organization for Security and
Cooperation. Those without allies or allegiance or guns flee. Thousands
pour across the borders. Thousands more head toward the coast in hopes of
escaping the looting and violence. A haphazard flotilla of leaky fishing
boats, luxury yachts, and commandeered government ships takes to the open
ocean to escape the chaos. Some sink in storms. Some are blown back to the
mainland. Some are repelled or sunk by warships of surrounding nations. A
few craft slip through, reach relative safety across the fifty-mile
straight. Survivors plead for asylum. One of these is the fleeing former
Minister of Defense.
The president, now with little authority or power, tries a desperate ploy.
He orders police stations in the north to hand out guns to citizens
willing to proclaim allegiance to his government. Hundreds, then thousands
respond. By nightfall of the program's second day a new sort of vigilante,
men wearing civilian clothes and ski masks and brandishing machine guns,
sets up checkpoints on major roads, searching cars and busses for
opposition members and stolen weapons.
Violence escalates. The streets of one coastal town fill with corpses of
secret police murdered by antigovernment crowds. Inland, near the capital,
another city rebels. Mutilated torsos of special forces troops fester at
curbside. The government responds, turning armored vehicle guns on a
hospital filled with rebel wounded, beating staff members, taking
hostages.
Unlikely international forces assert themselves. Greeks send troops to
evacuate Chinese, Jordanian, and Syrian diplomats and their families from
embattled enclaves near the capital. The Italian navy exercises its might,
intercedes, provides a neutral diplomatic meeting ground aboard one of its
warships off the coast. The major European powers act; they arm, embark,
and land an international military force by sea and air to restore order.
Calm settles over an occupied nation. The rebels retreat into scattered
countryside strongholds. Some talk of elections. Some talk of all-out war.
Survivalist fiction?
No.
Springtime in Albania, 1997.
Commodities and Creativity
Imagine that the coffee house couple are right. Imagine what happened over
there happening here, a kind of Albania in America. Imagine inflation,
depression, devaluation of stocks or bonds or the dollar, shortages of
food or fuel or other resources. Breakdown could follow, then violence,
civil strife, even nuclear war. Now imagine there are ways to prepare,
material ways, economic ways, prophylactic prudence in the American
tradition. Anticipate these events. Preserve capital, invest
strategically, maximize market advantage. Emulate the Boy Scout, the busy
summer squirrel. Stockpile necessities, guard them against dangers. Begin
with two maxims, one applicable to all survivalism, the other specific to
marketeers' efforts to persuade survivalists. What you have is what you
will need. What you will need is for sale.
What You Have Is What You Will Need
One premise is common to all survivalism: trouble is coming, but
manageable trouble. The talked-of cataclysm ahead may destroy, confuse,
destabilize, but only selectively. Necessities now available from
traditional sources-retail goods, military security, government services,
church leadership-may dwindle. But prepared survivalists can fill the
gaps, for themselves and perhaps for others. In the disrupted future,
survival readiness will neutralize institutional and systemic failures. No
matter what the future may hold, what you have will be the foundation for
what you need. As such, survival readiness is relative and tenable, not
absolute and tested. Preparations are not evaluated against benchmark
standards. Calorie consumption rates or roentgen shielding capacity, the
number and distribution of enemies, the strength of their faith and
firepower3/4all should be known. But pertinent facts do not make
programmatic imperatives. They serve other purposes: as punctuations and
embellishments to survival storytelling; as evidence that scenarios
crafted to fit individual circumstances are grounded in reasoned
practicality. Consider a few short examples built on premises of economic
troubles.
New Yorker Kirk Schmidt, twenty-nine, is married to an engineer. His
scenarios hinge on "economic collapse" and its consequences. Early
evenings he attends college, working toward a degree in business
administration. Late nights he devotes to his hobby, making survival plans
to suit his lifestyle. "My hobby is investments to build a secure future,"
Kirk says. "If a bomb hits New York City I am doomed, but I don't think
that will happen, really. New York City is a stimulating place to live and
is great for investment and the future. I live in a condominium and
advocate them for all to save money and energy." Kirk emphasizes energy
dependence as the weakest link in our economy, but he has a plan. "I am
investing to make big money so I can build a solar house in the country
and pay cash for it." Away from the city things will be safer. Meanwhile,
Kirk makes a living. "I manage a store that sells insulated windows and
doors, and I see how interested the general population is in saving
energy."
Dr. Ronald Smallfield and his wife live in Los Angeles. They describe
themselves as Anglo-Saxon Episcopalians in their early sixties whose
politics are "conservative, hard money, Republican but not radical right."
Their interest in survivalism grew out of their "concern about the
deterioration of the monetary system and breakdown of the social structure
of the country, especially the large cities." Dr. Smallfield feels his
horticultural expertise developed through thirty years of orchid
cultivation will complement his medical background as an essential
postdisaster skill. Mrs. Smallfield runs an interior decorating business
and has a lifelong interest in "sewing, designing, stitchery," and related
crafts, which she views as her contribution to family survival
preparations.
Carol Kennworth, like Kirk Schmidt, illustrates a survivalist corollary:
what you plan for now will be what you will need later. Good intentions,
backed by a good story, count for action among survivalists. Carol,
thirty-five, attorney-at-law, lives with her spouse and children in urban
New England on a comfortable six-digit income and belongs to Mensa's
roughly one-hundred-member survivalist "special interest group." The
obviously intelligent members hold no meetings, recognize no leadership,
and share only the "Survivalist SIG Report," a six-page monthly mimeoed
newsletter compiled from the contributions of the most active
participants. Carol describes herself as a political conservative with a
Protestant background and distinctive tastes. Likes: "classical music,
opera, and playing the piano." Languages: fluent "French and German, a
little Spanish and Hebrew." Enjoyments: international travel, "acquiring
knowledge about history and other cultures," and "a good debate and free
exchange of ideas" with "healthy, self-confident, uninhibited" people.
Prospects: "I have become a 'survivalist,'" Carol reveals, "mostly because
I do not believe most people have an objective standard of values, which
should be a common ground for all. This lack of objectivity has infected
our government and our people." She can see the possibility of "shortages
and riots due to economic pressures" and the "ensuing military effort to
control same, eventually leading to a war-time economy and possible
nuclear resolution." Her plans: a joint retreat venture with "six or seven
families who might wish to purchase with me a large tract or farm, put
vacation houses on it (now a tax shelter and when needed a fallout
shelter)." But these partners should be compatible, "well-educated
professionals," preferably "atheistic or agnostics, persons who have
successfully completed psychoanalysis, and ... who adhere to the
principles of Ayn Rand in Atlas Shrugged."
While these snapshots do little justice to the subtlety of the valuation
issue, they immediately make obvious both the relativity and intrinsic
attractions of survivalist scenario building. Survivalism fits lifestyles
and budgets.
What You Need, You Can Buy
Marketeers promote a streamlined survival. There are troubles ahead but
ways to cope. It is a matter of being in the right place at the right time
with the right stuff. And acquiring the right stuff seems simple. In the
gospel folk song "All My Trials," faith trumps finances. Salvation is not
for sale. "If religion was a thing that money could buy," the song
proposes, "then the rich would live and the poor would die." But they
cannot and do not, claims the song. Marketeers claim differently. Religion
does not matter much, but the song's null hypothesis is reasonable.
Protection can be bought. Survival is for sale.
What is for sale? Shelter, security, staples, implements, accessories, and
anything else expected to sharply accrue or preserve value when
disruptions occur. Full coverage of all survival-for-sale items would make
for a daunting volume in its own right. To illustrate I'll sample the
stock in a limited arena, products and services offered to secure goods
and people in safe havens, nooks and crannies, shelters and retreats, and
other locales theoretically resistant to harm or removed from trouble.
Stroll through the survivalist market. Consider the offerings. Note their
diversity. But remember, appearances are not meanings. Commodities are not
culture. Not everything advertised for a purpose serves that purpose. Not
everything for sale is sold.
Concealment
One can "learn how to hide almost anything" in The Stash Book. Use Hidden
Doorways to build sequestered nooks and crannies "in houses, cars,
motorcycles, bicycles-even one's own body." Keep valuables safe from
government inspection (or FDIC protection) in Swiss Security Vaults
(located in Aurora, Colorado).
Shelters
What about the bomb? While the Reagan administration recommended shovels
and dirt, the Todds showed us more detailed plans, working drawings of a
"Blast-Upgradable Hazard-Resistant Earth-Sheltered Residence" (see also
Chester et. al. 1984, 24), just purchased for twenty-five dollars from the
American Civil Defense Association, publishers of the Journal of Civil
Defense and the TACDA Alert since the Kennedy era. Off-the-truck handy
havens can be had, too. In the 1980s "The Egg," Underground Shelters'
cement box, Stormaster Shelters' concrete ellipse, and Survival Center's
quonset provided 60 to 120 square feet of backyard-buriable shelter for up
to five persons for two weeks of radiation- or mayhem-induced
encapsulation.
Continues...
Excerpted from Dancing at Armageddon
by Richard G. Mitchell, Jr.
Copyright © 2003 by University of Chicago.
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Anonymous
Posted January 10, 2002
Things ain't what they seem to be. The world turns, the media spins, and the author yarns a tale 20 years in the making. Mitchell jimmies open the bomb shelter for a glimpse of its denizens- survivalists who foresee trouble, make dark warnings, and prepare. Foreboding events call for a 'creative transcendence of calamitous cultural change,' and lead to surprising solutions. Better bury your house, stockpile your pins, and keep your Charmin dry. The truth is as close as your local coffee shop and flea market. On the topic of survivalists, not all readers who wonder are lost, but many are mistaken. Be prepared. You'll find yourself yanked from an armchair into pup tents, pawnshops, and the proper use of the garrote. Mitchell shares his fears transparently, his gaffes candidly, and the chocolate cake story as with a close friend; seamlessly weaving narrative, observation, and analysis. Don't confuse good reading with poor sociology. The insights and methodology sneak home with you like campfire smoke after a weekend in the woods. Learn about survivalism from a man who teaches survival skills himself; it's a tonic for pulp media depictions. Fear whom you will, but first meet the people who are dancing at Armageddon.
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Overview
Richard G. Mitchell Jr. spent more than a dozen years among survivalists at public conferences, private meetings, and clandestine training camps across America. He takes us inside a compelling, hidden world more connected to the chaos of modern life many of us experience than the label "separatist" suggests. In survivalism Mitchell found a profound and meaningful critique of ...