Poster for the evicted squat 111 that will be stuck on the streets in the coming days. Below is the text of the occupation and comrades.
In the early morning of Friday 22 July armoured forces of repression entered squat 111 and then evicted it and sealed it with an armoured door, the measures of which seem to have been taken in advance. They confiscated material and, in collaboration with the ever-willing establishment, tried to create an impression, among other things, with sharp kitchen knives and beer.
What is ultimately a squat has been an internal preoccupation from the beginning of their history. It’s the walls; it’s the relationships; it all gets complicated and changed in the course of the scythe of history. All, however, are elevated to full-light stars that point the way to the struggle for freedom and life. Simple as that. These walls, stable and immovable until recently, have housed relationships that are strong but complex and fluid in nature. The paradox of the Argo demonstrates the contradiction of this essentialist conception of the detached and self-contained/moving nature of abiotic beings by linking them to their historical position and the perception of the living beings who observe them and yet are life-giving energies for them. Placing them in dialectical relation to the surrounding world. Squats, therefore, are value-wise equally their walls equally their history, their fixed and transient world. Perhaps one of the most important roles they perform beyond the production of public discourse, interventions of all kinds and intensities, events, is the sharpening of consciences. Our squat, our big house, certainly, although it has fallen short in many ways, if it was anything, was a ‘matrix’ of well-ordered steel consciences that, through word and deed, gave and give steadily from their post in the struggle for freedom. It hosted human and non-human animals, material and archival blossoms on the tree of the struggle for the liberation of nature, land, animals and people. The eleven was neither silence nor storm. The eleven was simply a part of the larger silence before the storm we vowed would come. A page in the tomes of movement history, a thorn in the flesh, another crack in the silence of alienation. “Never say you lost something, better to say you got it back.” Not to the state dregs, nor to oblivion, but to the inevitable end of beings. This knowledge to us non-owners, the natives of cities who have always lived trying not to be trapped does not frighten us. Neither wreckage nor loss frightens us. But we are not comfortable with anything less than everything. Continue reading “Thessaloniki, Greece: Poster for the evicted squat 111”
