Essay in N+1 by Tobi Haslett about the 2020 protests.
āWhat elasticity, what historical initiative, what a capacity for sacrifice in these Parisians!ā Marx gasped in a letter when news reached him that the members of the Paris Commune had repelled the imperial army and abolished the police; he said they were āstorming heaven.ā And a version of that thoughtāāāa degraded, baffled paraphraseāāāflashed to mind as I saw the masked children of New York slam their skateboards against police vans and throw themselves at lines of officers packing guns and shields and nightsticks; chanting the name of a dead man while sprinting with hundreds down an avenue, Iād never felt an ecstasy more complicated or a freedom less false. On a plateglass window in SoHo, someone graffitied, simply, āGEORGE!ā So many of the faces I saw streaking through spring and summerāāālit by burning cars and reflected in broken windows, doing victory laps around sneaker stores and bloodied by batonsāāābelonged to adolescents. Armed only with their psychotic courage, they were running, dancing, singing, smashing, burning, screaming, storming heaven: all rapturous varieties of Barakaās āmagic actions.ā