Alexander Berkamn’s Prison Diary
To date I have read more of Berkman’s writings than any other anarchist thinker. In 1892 Berkman attempted to kill Henry Frick, an industrialist and financier, for his role in the Pinkerton’s assault and killing of several workers who were participating in the Homestead Strike. Berkman failed however, injuring but not killing Frick and he spent 22 years in prison. Upon release Berkman published Prison Memoirs of an Anarchist (1912). Berkman also wrote The ABC of Anarchism (1929) in which he lays out his version of anarco-communism; a blend of communism and anarchism that is worthy of its own song. That song will have to wait for this song is about his time in prison.[1]
I found Berkman’s prison memoirs to be honest, insightful and exhausting. It should be clear to anyone who reads it that Berkman has an incredibly active mind. His thoughts are always moving and evolving and they are imbued with such a sense of urgency that the word delusional was uttered more than once in our class discussion of him. While Berkman was in prison and prior to his trial he was under the impression that his life was over. He is constantly remarking on his anticipation of the trial, a trail in which he was preparing to let the whole world know why he did what he did in a speech. This speech he imagined as his swan song, his one shot at speaking the truth before the eyes of the law. His speech was cut short by the judge and he was sentenced to 22 years. He figured after the trial he would be put to death and if not he would take his own life, neither of which came to be (well he did end up taking his life but it was long after he served his sentence and for health reasons).[2]
Like any individual Berkman is a mix of many things and one cannot deny his violent deed and his utter disregard for law in practice, however The ABC of Anarchism offer a much different side of Berkman. Berkman wanted more than anything to be rid of authority and law, in order to allow a more peaceful and gentle type of existence to occur. He made a clear distinction between a revolution and anarchism; revolution contains violence and anarchism does not. Unlike my classmates and possibly my professor I felt that Berkman had a very clear moral boundary when it came to violence. In this sense Berkman is like a freedom fighter and a freedom fighter to some is a terrorist to others regardless of how righteous their cause.[3]
The song about Berkman’s prison memoirs is comprised by his own words save for one stanza. It would be cryptic if I did not explain some of the words. It is a song about his time in prison prior to the trail when his mind is very agitated. “Number seven” was a mat shop where Berkman was assigned to work after his first two weeks in prison. The stanza that is not a direct quote from Berkman is about the prison warden who was placing fake letters in Berkman’s mail trying to frame him for anarchist activity that he was not a part of, or using letters published in newspapers from anarchist to try and connect Berkman to a larger plot. “Who sends clandestine mail to you?”[4]
While Berkman’s prison memoirs are filled with so much more than his relationship with the warden and his longing to escape (personal realization of the effect of violence, realization of striking workers who disagreed with his deed, his relationship with his bunkmate and Emma Goldman etc) I chose to write a song that tried to capture the first feeling I got from reading the beginnings of his prison stay. That feeling was a mix of mania, intelligence, stubbornness and longing. Berkman attempted to take the life of one man who had hired the Pinkertons to break the Homestead Strike, the Pinkertons eneded up killing many men.
Berkman’s Prison Diary
At last [they] assigned me to work!
I speculate on the character of Number Seven
And the possibility of escape
The thought quickens my observation
First breath of fresh air in two weeks
Violently
Stimulates my longing
Perhaps the shop will provide an opportunity
My observation quickens
Can’t get this warden off my back
He slipping letters into my stacks
Trying to pin me down for something that I never did
If I can just make it to the trial
I can say my peace with style
And after that I don’t care because I figure my life is forfeit
First Breath of fresh air in two weeks
Violently
Stimulates my longing
Perhaps the shop will provide an opportunity
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