Autointerview: the Barricade Editorial Collective interviews itself

In early June, the Barricade editorial collective sat down together to look back — at our founding principles, the context in which the project began, and the work we had in mind to do — in order to take stock of the present and the work we feel is still to be done. The “autointerview” format we borrowed from the artist Lucas Samaras as a way of articulating, interrogating, updating, and affirming the frame we set for our project and ourselves. We are sharing this experiment here, with the intention of showing to our readers our own seams and outlines.  

The Barricade editorial collective includes: Amy Obermeyer, Elizabeth Benninger, Grace Holleran, Jessie Fredlund, Lauren K. Wolfe, and Zach Rivers.

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Barricade mission statement:

Barricade is a platform for the publication of writing against fascism and authoritarianism and other forms of domination and control.
We believe that power functions in part by controlling the movement of information.
We seek to keep information moving by re-presenting it in translation.
We believe that power functions in part by establishing the illusion of transparency.
We believe that literature and its translation obstruct that illusion.
A barricade is a makeshift form of opposition.
A barricade shows its seams and outlines.

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Question, for the founding editors: Looking at the mission statement above, written in January 2017, how would you describe the project’s original motivation?

Amy: The whole idea, at least for me, was making it possible for people with different linguistic capabilities to share things that felt really important in a moment of increasing fascism and authoritarianism. And it seemed important also to do it collectively and collaboratively, framing translation as a political project. And I think, for me, probably for many of us, it was also important to feel like we were doing something that was within our individual specializations, something that would make our work feel important to the world.

Elizabeth: I like what you’re saying, Amy, especially about thinking of translation as a political project, because I think it’s also important to flag that this project came out of us being in graduate school and having varying degrees of frustration with the apolitical or non-political nature of a lot of work that was being done around translation and otherwise. So this was a way that we as grad students could contribute something that was very explicitly political—unapologetically so—while also being very attentive to the aesthetic questions behind the pieces we were publishing.

Zach: Yeah, and thinking about the specific context in which this project was germinated, there was just so much discussion of untranslatability happening at the moment. And it’s an important idea, or a useful phrase, but it’s also part of what felt so apolitical. The moment may have felt for many like this big exception, an untranslatable moment [with the election of Trump in 2016]. And so it felt really interesting and important for us to find, to solicit and translate pieces of antifascist writing from different time periods. That’s for me an important and interesting aspect of the work we’ve done: to make a resource for the moment.

Lauren: Yeah, I agree. And for me, it felt really exciting to have something practical to do. Especially given the context that originated our work or brought us together, that context being so apolitical, disaffected, sort of navel-gazey and theoretical. It felt really good to have something to do. And to have the thing we were doing involve material and conversations that were coming to us from outside our own community. And that we were creating context. That whatever exceptionally strange thing was happening in the United States was actually not all that exceptionally strange, not historically, not world-historically.

Continue reading “Autointerview: the Barricade Editorial Collective interviews itself”

Open Call: Closes July 31

Barricade seeks antifascist writings from around the world — from any time period, any genre, translated from any language into English.

The reading window closes July 31st. 

See the Submissions page for more information!

Questions? Write to us at submissions [at] barricadejournal [dot] org

Want to pitch us original writing that aligns with our mission? Email us!

Illustration (c) Fernando Goyret 

Call for Submissions Issue #5 — Deadline Oct 15, 2022

Marionette control bar,with clipping path

In 1910, women’s rights and labor activist Helen Todd declared that bread—“which is home, shelter, and security”—is just as necessary to life as roses—“music, education, nature and books.” The slogan “Bread and Roses” immediately became a rallying cry for a successful textile workers’ strike in Massachusetts in 1912, before going on to have a career in song and strike actions far beyond this moment.

The table and the imagination: the one inconceivable without the other.

Barricade wants to publish your translations of this and like-minded demands, from all places and times where the forces of capital and reaction have sought to separate them.

Issue #5 will emphasize poetic voices raised in protest, from song lyrics to epic narrations, to aphorisms, to word art. While poetry will be our focus, we will still also consider prose submissions.

See our Submissions page for details on how to submit your translation manuscript. Deadline for the present call: October 15, 2022.

Only here for so long: understanding what antifascist architecture could mean

By Alhelí Harvey

It’s a rainy morning in Austin, Texas. The kind of morning where the mugginess outside seems to creep in under the door, around the window frame, smothering the walls; it feels like a climatological manifestation of this state’s malice towards people. Anyone with a womb and without a wallet is a target, and anyone can be their bounty hunter. 1 Haitian migrants are literally stranded under a bridge, only to be brutalized by the Customs and Border Patrol; 2 this assemblage of goons on horses is the direct descendants of the Texas Rangers, one of the most openly racist police forces this “Empire of Maladies” has ever devised. 3  I tap a video on Instagram: “There was a fire last night…” and see that a stage in the center of a community that looks like a cross between a set from The Smurfs and a 1970s summer camp is a pile of ash. As the video presents the facts of the fire, we see that the community is a series of cabins (referred to as “cobbins”) under an overpass (US Interstate 880). This place is Cob on Wood– referring both to the earthen community space’s literal material and its location on Wood Street. It is as much makeshift as it is tactical: in the face of multiple failures by Oakland, California, and the country, unhoused residents and their collaborators created what has been described as an “eco-oasis” in under a year. 4

Cob on Wood has a health clinic, a hot shower, and a community kitchen. Residents make shelters on their own from a material that is both cheap and effective: cob, a weather-resistant mixture of soil, clay, sand, and straw. Similar to adobe, cob has been used all over the world and is highly durable. In many ways, the community is an example of architecture without architects. In one sense, Cob on Wood is a manifestation of a collective response to an urgent need for both housing and resources. The methods for its building came about through a collaborative process rarely seen in capital A- architecture. These details, while laudable and certainly inspiring models for different building approaches, just as easily point toward the inadequacy of architectural practices, understandings, and relationships as they are widely practiced by the trade and discipline itself.  Continue reading “Only here for so long: understanding what antifascist architecture could mean”