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The Anti-Anarchist Bomb-proof Clockwork Substitute Ruler (1898)

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Punch (October 29, 1898): 203.

IN the gallery of the Fine-Art Society may be seen a number of drawings made in Spain by Mr. E. George, the able architectural etcher and draughtsman. As might be anticipated, they are almost entirely architectural. They are brilliant and broad, limpid in their tones and pure in their tints, but somewhat hard and over-defined even for sunlit Spain. The most artistic of them seem to be No. 10, ‘The City Gate, Salamanca’; ‘A Convent, Salamanca’ (17); ‘San Pedro, and Old Houses, Vitoria’ (21); and ‘The Golden Tower, Seville ’ (44). In the same place the firm has collected nearly two hundred drawings in black and white, made by Mr. E. T. Reed for “Mr. Punch.” These include not only personal satires with queer names, such as we reviewed with much, but qualified admiration when they were republished in a volume, but a large proportion of more witty examples and designs made in a strain of genuine humour, such as that delicious piece which shows the Duke of Devonshire listening to the reading of speeches of the Marquis of Hartington (4) and ‘Britannia a la Beardsley’ (22), which is no caricature. ‘The Anti-Anarchist Bomb-proof Clockwork Substitute Ruler’ (55), a dummy President wisely put forward by the police of Chicago to receive any bombs and bullets that might be going, is first rate; so is ‘Irish Members at Windsor, in Armour’ (64), and ‘The Rev. Arthur Balfour at the Foreign Office’ (72). Mr. Reed is understood to be preparing a large series of illustrations of the ways and manners of the County Council, the Asylums Board, and the School Board of London, each on a field day.

The Athenaeum no. 3743 (July 22, 1899): 138.

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Mentioned in passing

  • “Achristoff, the 17-year-old priest’s daughter, who made love to the detective Lavroffski, in order to betray him into the hands of the nihilists…”
  • “Victoria Goukoffski, daughter of a medical dispenser of Odessa, who, on hearing that the Nihilist Kovalsky had been sentenced to death, created a riot…”
  • “the daughter of Major General Herzfeld, who was arrested at Kief…”
  • “Jude Krakoffski, the daughter of a university official at Kieff, whose banishment to Siberia for having destroyed certain compromising papers in 1877, was confirmed only the other day…” (1881)
  • “the lady Levandovski, aged 25, and condemned to 15 years hard labour…”
  • “Anna Makharevna, who fled with a forged passport for her part in the vitriolization of the spy Goronovitch…”
  • Vera Panyutin
  • “Olga Rassoffski, who sent a bullet through the head of a police sergeant…”
  • Larissa Sarudneff
  • Olga Shilinski

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Tragedy In San Francisco (1893)

Tragedy In San Francisco.—A shocking accident is reported from San Francisco during the performance of a charade representing a Nihilist plot, which was being given at the residence of Mrs. M’Coy, whose son, Mr. Albert M’Coy, appeared in the role of a Russian officer. Miss Grace King, who took the part of a Nihilist girl, and had to assassinate the officer, had been suffering from a sprained ankle. She had used a crutch, which, however, she laid aside previous to the charade. At the moment she was making a dagger-thrust her ankle failed, and she fell against M’Coy, the weapon piercing his heart. The unfortunate young man died in a few moments. Miss King, who was completely prostrated by the tragic accident, was arrested, but released on bail tendered by M’Coy’s brothers. At the inquest the jury entirely exonerated Miss King, and returned a verdict of accidental death.

Australian Journal (June, 1893): 580.

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Beautiful Nihilists, Pretty Anarchists, Red Virgins and Others

Makarov_Mar'ja_Sof'ja_PerovskajaWelcome to The Beautiful Nihilist: Representations of Revolutionary Women. The goal here is to gather material from the popular press depicting radical and particularly militant women, in all its sensationalist and often exploitative glory. The articles and tales collected here document a familiar fascination with a political variety of femme fatale, often with a great deal of emphasis on the sexual desirability and social status of the women portrayed in presumably “unwomanly” acts of violence. At the same time, however, the tabloid presentation often allows important bits of history and biography to show through. Indeed, in many cases, this spectacular journalism is all that we have to document the lives of women who were on the front lines of the most militant sorts of struggles.

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Hubert Church, “Vera Figner” (1908)

[Vera Figner, Russian Revolutionary; a woman of great charm and radiant beauty. She was condemned to imprisonment for life, and for twenty years was immured in the living rave of the Schlusselburg Fortress. When these lines were composed the writer thought that Vera Figner was still in prison. By a strange chance, on three days after the lines were written, he read that Vera Figner had been released.]


Vera Figner, when the breezes blow,
Do you awaken to the hostile morn?
Or do you live so numbed you do not know,
Like a toad in a granite tempest-worn?
Vera Figner, are the eyes bedewed
That men had died for in the far-away?
Is your face like a wounded soul—subdued
To grief that never heals for any day?


Does the clock in the turret tell you now
The morn is vanishing, the day declines?
Or is all thought beneath the drooping brow
Vacant and gloomy as the winter pines?
Have men betrampled through the many years
Your soul submitting till its very deep
Has oozed away to dust: till you lack tears,
Denied the unhappy ones who cannot weep?


Oh marvel of misfortune that a soul
So full of liberty and love should be
Tired, ever tired, to creep like any mole
From wall to wall in darkling vacancy.
To wrap the rich thought of the brain in death,
For never any sound may let it forth.
Oh God, that givest consecrated breath
To holy truth, why tarryeth Thy wrath?


Beloved of all spirits that achieve
Through agony—Oh, miserable, thou,
Who hast all suffering, but cannot leave
Thy burden ever! What is breathing now
But a poor disinheritance of days?
And even that poor remnant is defiled;
For thee that shouldst have trod delicious ways
No morn, no eve, no love, no roof, no child.


Thou canst not be endungeoned evermore:
Thy soul is where the breezes blow with pain
Past Ladoga: there is not any shore
That hath not felt thy yearning. If again
Thou hast all agony, thou hast the crown,
The heaven within the spirit that shall save,
Though earth be cruel. Death hath his renown,
But cannot pass our conquerable grave.

Hubert Church, “Vera Figner,” Egmont (Melbourne: Thomas C. Lothian, 1908): 52-53.

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Why Vaillant Threw the Bomb! (1894)

220px-Vaillant-facePRICE ONE HALF-PENNY.

Why Vaillant Threw the Bomb!


We feel it our duty, as English comrades, in the face of what has been said by the smug faced hirelings of the capitalist press concerning Vaillant, to say a few words about him and his actions before proceeding to his defence.

Vaillant’s life, like the lives of even our own workpeople, may be summed up in a few words,—one of intense struggle and misery. He, like others, possessed the heritage of the “right of life,” with all its pleasures. These were denied! He protested! Will his co-sufferers blame him? Never; they will admire rather than condemn his action. Will the middle-class disapprove of such deeds? Yes! Why? Because the happiness of such as Vaillant means the downfall of sleek hypocrisy and cant, of which those who blame are the exact examples.

Middle-class society, even as found in France, would never forgive such an one who dared to brook their happiness, built as it is on the misery of the class from which Vaillant came.

Vaillant was a love-child, and, as such, he was exposed to all the vexations of a hypocritical society; a society which will even inflict ostracism and make women criminals for daring to love and bear children without the authority of “the law”!

During the early life he knew what is was to be without joy, without warmth, and without bread. He, like many another worker, had been reared in the cup that overflows with misery, starvation, and woe! Who will wonder much for such an act as his considering his incentive?

We find him on the road at twelve years of age as a tramp, with no money or bread, looking for work, and experiencing continual disappointments.

Thus the years rolled on without sweetening his life, always being the recipient of kicks and cuffs, along with the maddening worry of where the next day’s meals would be obtained.

Such was the youth of Vaillant.

The middle-class of France, as of other “civilized” countries, are themselves to blame. Not satisfied with the cruelty and merciless harassing of Vaillant in his youth, it was still continued as he grew older. His first experience of prison life was for wandering without visible means of subsistence. What a terrible crime! The second time was for having dared to assert his manhood and take bread.

This, then, was the help, the encouragement, he received from society! Can you wonder, fellow-workers, that the iron of bitterness had seared deep into his heart?

Vaillant observed side by side with the luxury and wealth of the middle-class, the woes and tribulations of the workers. It made him a rebel. He detested and abhorred middle-class institutions and developed a strong affection for those who were his fellow-sufferers. It made him a man intensely human. This, we maintain, in spite of the bewailings and nashing of teeth by the writers of the capitalist press, anent the attempted destruction of “innocent life” through his act, of which he was found guilty.

What did Vaillant say on this very point? He said: “On observing the intense misery of others like myself, I felt the imperative and instant necessity of propaganda for one ideal: the need for a society where suffering would be unknown, and where it would be folly for any one to inflict unnecessary pain. That is how and why I became an Anarchist!”

From that moment Vaillant became a passive Anarchist, a preacher, snatching every opportunity to enlighten his fellows of the necessity of doing something for suffering humanity. But his high conception of the ideal state of society, assisted by his deep hate for those who deplore and despise such as he, was not long in spurring him on to action.

We know what followed. For that middle-class “justice” have foully murdered a man who has demonstrated in his own way for the Miserables. His act was far nobler than that of a hireling British soldier potting off black men for the purposes of annexation and governmental schemers.

After his arrest he made the following declaration to the judge: “I have had the courage, the manhood, to strike a blow at your corrupt middle-class system, because I recognize in it a hindrance to all real progress. Your laws, you customs, are strangling all noble aspirations, and swells the despair of women and the sobbing of little children!”

Yes, fellow-workers, he has chosen to demonstrate against so-called “law and order” as advocated by those drones and exploiters of the poor, the members of the Chamber of Deputies! Yes, he has shown to the world that governmental force can be met on its own battle-ground and with its own weapons! It is quite legitimate for governmental hirelings to maim or kill the workers (remember Peterloo, Mitchelstown and Featurerstone, etc.), but quite another thing for the workers, the useful ones, to maim or kill the drones and parasites!

Brave, Vaillant!

Whatever may be said now by his enemies, it is pretty certain that Vaillant will be pointed out as a hero by the coming generations of workpeople, one who had the courage of his convictions and who fought for the emancipation of the downtrodden peoples of all lands.

Hurrah for Anarchy!




Gentlemen,—In a few minutes you are going to condemn me, but I shall have at least the satisfaction of having dealt a blow at existing Society, this accursed Society in which one man may be seen uselessly expending enough to nourish some thousands of families, a hateful Society which allows some individuals to lay hold of all the social wealth, while there are a hundred thousand unfortunate people who have not even the bread that is thrown to the dogs, and whole families that commit suicide from lack of simple necessities. Ah! Gentlemen, if only those who direct affairs could go down among these unfortunate people. But no, they choose to remain deaf to their appeal. A fatality would seem to be driving them as it did the royalty of the eighteenth century in a gulf where they will be buried. Woe unto those who, thinking themselves of finer stuff, believe in the right of trampling in the dust and exploiting those below them! For there comes a time when the people do not reason. They rise like a tornado and overwhelm all like a torrent. Then are seen bloody heads at the end of pikes.

Among the exploited are two classes of individuals. The one, not alive to its own power, or to what it might come to be, takes life as it comes, believes that it is born to be slaves, and is content with the little which is given it in recompense for its work. But the other thinks and studies, and, casting a glance around, perceives the social injustices. Is it their fault if they see clearly, and suffer at the sight of others suffering? Then they throw themselves into the fray, and become the exponents of the claims of the people. I am one of the latter. Wherever I have gone I have seen the unfortunate bowing under the yoke of Capital. Everywhere I have seen the same wounds which make one shed tears of blood, even in the uninhabited provinces of South America, where I had reason to believe that he who was tired out by the troubles of civilization might find rest in the shadow of palm trees and study nature. Yet there more than anywhere else I say Capital like a vampire come to suck up to the last drop the blood of the unfortunate people.

There I returned to France, where it was reserved to me to see those who belonged to me suffering atrociously. It was that drop which made the cup run over. Tired of living this life of suffering and cowardice, I took that bomb into the midst of those who are chiefly responsible for social suffering. I am reproached with having injured those who were truck by my projectiles. Permit me to say that if the bourgeois had not committed massacres during the Revolution they would most likely still be under the yoke of the noblesse. Moreover, count up the killed and wounded of Tonkin, Madagascar, and Dahomey, and the thousands, nay the millions, of unfortunate people who die in the workshops, the mines, and wherever Capital weighs them down. Add those who die of hunger, and that, too, with the assent of our deputies. By the side of all this, how insignificant is the weight of that for which I am blamed to-day! True, one does not efface the other, but, as a matter of fact, are not we Anarchists really well enough able to defend ourselves against reproaches from those above us? I am well aware that I shall be told I might have continued only state our claims, but the deafer a person is the louder one has to speak to make himself heard.

For too long a time the only reply that we have had has been imprisonment, the rope, or a volley of musketry. Make no mistake. The explosion of my bomb is not only the cry of a revolted Vaillant, but that of an entire class demanding its rights, and soon destined to join deeds to words, for you may be sure that it will be all in vain you make your laws. The ideas of those who think will not be stopped. Just as in the last century all the forces of Government could not prevent the Diderots and the Voltaires from disseminating emancipating ideas among the people, so all the forces of Government to-day will not prevent the Reclus, the Darwins, the Spencers, the Ibsens, the Mirbeaus, and others from disseminating those ideas of justice and liberty which will break down the prejudices which keep the masses in ignorance, and these ideas, once received by the unfortunate, will ripen into acts of revolt, as they have done in me. In this way the process will continue until the disappearance of authority enables all men to organize themselves freely according to their affinities, so that each may enjoy the product of his labour. Then will disappear all those moral maladies known as prejudices, and human beings will finally live in harmony, their only aspiration being the study of the sciences and the love of their fellows.

I conclude by saying that a Society in which are seen such social inequalities as we witness every day about us, in which we see daily suicides that are the result of poverty, and prostitution flaunting itself at every corner, a Society whose principal monuments are barracks and prisons—such a Society must be transformed as soon as possible at the risk of being speedily wiped out from the human species. Hail to those who labour in any way whatever for this transformation! This is the idea that has guided me in my duel with authority. But, as in this duel I have wounded my adversary, it is for him to strike me in turn. It is of little account what the penalty may be with which you strike me, for, gazing upon this assembly with the eyes of reason, I cannot restrain a smile at beholding you atoms lost in matter reasoning because you possess a prolongation of the spinal cord, and pretending to the right of judging one of your fellows. Ah! how insignificant a thing is your assembly and your verdict in the history of humanity! Human history, too, is just as small a thing in the whirlwind which carries it across immensity, and which is destined to disappear, or at least to be changed, in order to begin again the same history and the same deeds—a veritable and perpetual play of the cosmic forces which are renewed and transformed for ever.

This leaflet can be obtain of N. Rhodes, Bootmaker, 22, St. Martin’s Court, St. Martin’s Lane, London, England, at 5s. per Thousand.


Issued by the Necessity Group of English Anarchists.


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A Handwritten Manuscript by Ravachol (1892)


Since his condemnation to death, Ravachol has written a great deal in prison. Here is a long handwritten text that we have been able to obtain, not without great difficulties. We have confided the reproduction of this interesting document to the house of Sédard in Lyon. It is written on two pages, and in it Ravachol explains his theories.

[The manuscript combines bad spelling, horrible penmanship, rotten grammar and nonexistent punctuation. Decoding it has been a long process. But here is a rough translation.]

Society can only be improved by a complete transformation of its organization. The most advanced political reforms, such as a tax on revenue and pensions for old age, all sound good to the ears of a great number of people. They don’t understand that if they were imposed the proprietor would fall back on his tenants for the pension fund. The government is obliged to impose new taxes, but since we complain that it cannot be enough to provide for our necessities, we run the risk of dying before we have the pension because of the privations that we have to bear, which can only shorten life. There are men who believe that if we put a high tax on fine wines we could decrease the cost of table wines. [It is an] error. The one who drinks fine wines is not a worker. It cannot be the one who makes nothing who pays. It will thus always be the one who works who pays the taxes, in whatever ever form they present themselves. Now the reduction of the workday to eight hours is an increase of wages. Eight hours of labor would be enough to satisfy the men who reflect. Indeed, what effort is necessary in order to obtain them! And if we succeed, what would we gain, exchanging for a greater number put to work temporarily? A little more time to rest and reflect, which is always good. But with the perfection of tools the number of idle workers will soon be as considerable as before. Thus, monthly demands to obtain the same result, an illusory increase in wages. For if the bosses consent to increased wages they can augment their products, so that that by earning more we will pay more dearly. So there is nothing to gain by this reform, which always leaves us to die of hunger in the midst of abundance and indeed products we lack, necessary things. And those [who starve are] the same who have produced by their labor that surplus production. Isn’t the world upside down to be deprived of things of all sorts, because there is more than enough of them to put an end to a state of things that is only disorder. We want to substitute an anarchic organization, which is the putting-in-common of all the world’s goods, whatever they may be. There will be no more proprietors and bosses. No more money. Everyone will work except the children, the infirm and the elderly. And we will have no need to produce useless and harmful things, such as forts, armor, cannons, rifles, or anything made with the intention of killing men. No need to falsify silk … which is burned when it suffers all [the dyer’s] operations and which is no longer silk, but a dangerous product, because of the poisons that have been attached to it. While one can dye the silk without charging it and with inoffensive products [but] that will be done when men no longer have to speculate on men. [Then] I would not seek to falsify the things that I am charged to make by hand, since it would get me nothing in return, since there will be no more money and since I have all the things that are useful to me. I need shoes and clothing. I only have to ask for them to take them. No more need, as today, to create demand by printing advertisements, which are then distributed. No more useless things to make. Everyone is interested in making fine things, of the first quality. No more need of the locksmith… No more fear of the thief, who could never make a profit on things that could not be found there. No more need of the strongbox, lock … or coin-purse. No more need of the rural police, the gendarmes, the sergeant, … the snitch, all the prison guards, the lawyers, the jurors, the sub-prefect, the deputies, the senator, the presidents of all sorts. Women will no longer have to prostitute themselves to live. No more need of the caisse d’emploi, of excise, regulations, bailiffs, notaries, or bankers. No more need of soldier, cannons, rifles, sabers, torpedo boats, armor, or forts. Everyone being concerned with conserving things, they will just surround and protect them better.



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A jailhouse fragment (April 13, 1892)

Screen shot 2015-07-10 at 6.59.51 PMA Jailhouse Fragment

Conciergerie, Cell 1, April 13, 1892

Individual interest, the source of all of men’s wrongs, must, if we wish to establish harmony in humanity, be replaced by the common interest.


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“Ravachol’s Experiment” (April 17, 1892)


He Felt the Revolutionary Pulse and Found It Does Not Beat.

Paris, April 17. — In an interview with his brother today Ravachol said: “I am neither a visionary nor a firebrand. I wished to feel the pulse of the revolutionary movement. To be candid, I find it does not beat. If it did, my example would be followed by others. Instead of this, they call me a criminal. I have written my memoirs covering my whole life. Let me be judged by these.” The persons on the jury list likely to be empanelled for the Ravachol case are panic-stricken and seeking to avoid serving.

An infernal machine, filled with powder, eighty Gayelot cartridges and a quantity of scrap-iron, with a burning fuse attached, was found in the electric lighting abed of the Compagnie du Nord, at Lille, today.

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The Voice of the Penal Colony (1893)

ilesdusalut-484_001THE VOICE OF THE PENAL COLONY

While the populations panic and cheer the hangman tsar, while the bourgeois and the governmentals congratulate themselves on the success of their stratagems and observe that human stupidity is always so great, a protest must come, proud and energetic, to remind the bourgeois that there are still free men, even, and especially, in their prisons and their penal colonies.

We must remind our leaders, who, in the joy of their triumph, lick the boots of the hangman of nihilists and whipper of women, that in the French penal colonies are also found those whose only crime has been to dream of a society of justice and equality.

The anarchist convicts in the penal colonies of Guyana address to us a manifesto in which, still and always glorifying the humanitarian principles that they have defended by deed and by word, before the so-called bourgeois justice, they make known to us the foul tortures, the vulgar and stupid means employed to conduct them more rapidly to death.

Even in irons they are still those who have made the bourgeois capitalists tremble, and that is why every means is used against them, in order to make them disappear.

Their outraged protest will be known, their words will be heard, while we await the hour, so much desired, when we can finally avenge them.


Dear Comrades,

We take advantage of an occasion that presents itself to bring you some news of the situation we face in the penal colonies where the bourgeois detain us.

When the bourgeois, who bear the name of magistrates, have struck at us, they have not dared to strike us with special laws enacting punishments created for us; they sense that they have already done something offensive in the joining together of the words convicts and anarchist, and they feign to apply to us their famous equality before the law.

Lies and hypocrisy, like everything done by a ruler. It is not the common penal servitude that they apply to us, but a penal servitude where all the cowardice of the tyrants and the hatred of the bourgeois weigh upon us.—You know by our previous letters that comrade Duval, the first who has been sent to Guyana, had to submit to all sorts of nuisances, each one as cowardly as the others, that his correspondence had been intercepted, and that finally, without any reason, he had been confined to the Île Royale (one of the Îles du Salut). That island, which is nothing but a rock in the middle of the ocean, has been chosen by the prison administration for the detainment of the convicts considered incorrigible, as well as those on the continent, either at Cayenne or at Maroni, who have been guilty of escape attempts, thefts crimes against persons and have been condemned again by the special maritime tribunal charged with judging the convicts. On that island there is a discipline more savage than anywhere, and the commandant there is a machine for handing out solitary confinement and irons.—Like comrade Duval, the comrades Pini and Girier, as well as the comrade Simon [Biscuit, accomplice of Ravachol], arrived in the last convoy, are all confined on that rock.

Our conduct with regard to the regulations, however, has never provided reasons for the internment imposed on us, but is instead to avoid the possibility of any escape on our part; and our jailers have judged it proper to isolate us in the midst of the ocean and to subject us to an iron discipline. Even that rigor does not seem to have satisfied them; for some time, instead of sleeping in the common hut, on a hammock, we are forced to sleep in the prison, in the narrow, filthy room where they cram the convicts condemned by the special tribunal to seclusion. There, we have a plank for a hammock, as if the ironclad doors, the bars and the ocean were not enough to hold us.

They chain us by the feet to an iron bar, which in the language of the penal colony is called the “spit.” — It is a spit, in fact, to which we are secured like game ready for roasting, while our persecutors, in the shelter of a mosquito net, rest on soft bunks that this good Administration furnishes them with the taxpayers’ money.

In the face of this last measure of cruelty, we have demanded the reasons of the commandant, who has responded to us in the language of the torturer who believes himself sheltered from the vengeance of his victims. I have, he responded to us, demanded this measure of the higher Administration in order to safeguard my personal security. We have the right to take such measures with regard to dangerous men, and you are dangerous since you are anarchists.

Dangerous!!! Read it, comrades! The anarchists are dangerous, but not those who have snatched women and children; not those who have chopped women in bits; not the cousin of the politician Reinach, the famous Altmayer. The administrators surround themselves with those men, and they have made them faithful servants whose mission is to double the guard by spying on the words and deeds that can be accomplished by the anarchist convicts, who have been able to preserve a certain respect with those charged with torturing them.—They are right to do so, by the way, as it is those who know how to hold up their heads and make themselves respected who are dangerous, not those who crawl like vipers or who come like dogs to lick the hands of those who strike them. So, despite the danger that there is in remaining men, we will not weaken in the face of adversity and we will show our tyrants that the smock of a convict is still not thick enough to hide the heart of an anarchist.

We cannot depict for you here all the vexations of which we are the object. That would require entering into the detail of life in the penal colony and that would lead us too far afield, but what it is important to make known to you, because we want it to be known, is the barbarity with which the Administration has deprived us of our correspondence. Comrade Girier, in Guyana, has had no news of his family in 18 months. A single letter was given him on his arrival, and nothing since.

To inform you of all the crimes committed in the name of the law in this country of death would take volumes.—So you will see pass before your eyes some wretches chained and pummeled with blows by the guard, and the cowardly convicts charged with aiding them in accomplishing their ferocities!

You will also see—an unbelievable thing!—you will see tied to a tree, at the foot of which is found an anthill, arms and legs plastered with brown sugar destined to attract the manioc ants, big as your little fingers and armed with sharp, powerful antennae.

We could continue on this subject, but what would be the use? When you know that there are so-called “civilized” savages, capable of committing the atrocities that we have cited, you will easily imagine what can arise from these barbaric brains

We will stop there, authorizing you to give our letter all that publicity that you can, for it is time that the people know what crimes are committed in their name; it places a grave responsibility on them, since they are the ones who give the power to other men who use it for the triumph of disgrace.

All men with a heart have the duty to think that those condemned by the magistrates in the name of the people have, if they were guilty, only had a glimmer of crime in their thoughts, and have only been criminals for a moment; and the still more criminal society avenges itself in a cowardly manner on these wretches by committing crimes against their persons for the full duration of their existence.

Publish this letter so that all the comrades also know how we are treated, and so that those who still believe there is something good in the bourgeois tear off the last blindfold that blinds them.

Let them all also be convinced that we have preserved all our courage and our love for anarchy, and let them no believe that the men fallen in the struggle are men doomed for the future. That is false. Our courage is greater than ever, and today we also have the hatred that our persecutors have poured into our hearts.

Forward, comrades, have no fear of coming to join us, but fight. We are wretched here, our food is disgusting, our lodgings unhealthy, the climate murderous, the men are like a plague for us, but all of that cannot make an anarchist suffer, for in the midst of these miseries, we have within us a deep joy from having struggled for the truth.

And we have the good fortune to know that others still fight, and the firm hope of fighting once again.

Courage then, comrades, strike hard against the monster of authority, break the machine of exploitation, squeeze the canker of religion, and fly without fear the flag of Anarchy.

The hearts of the anarchist convicts accompany you in the battle.

Long live Anarchy!

The Anarchist Convicts of Guyana

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