Premadasi, at the time the main national organizer for Deep Green Resistance, walked next to me along Telegraph Avenue as I dragged my suitcase from one hotel (cold) to a better room (warm) in another one. (Chris Hedges had cancelled his appearance but the room remained paid for, so I took it).
The work Premadasi had done in a few short months was remarkable, and I told her how impressed I was. “You’ve pulled together 13 DGR chapters so far since the book came out—that’s amazing!” I hadn’t seen that kind of persistence and determination since I’d worked with the Revolutionary Communist Youth Brigade (associated with the Revolutionary Communist Party), many years ago in New York.
Whatever critiques I might have had of them, being lazy wasn’t one of them. There were no excuses with the RCYB. Are you tired? Well, the masses are probably tired of being oppressed too. Would you rather take the day off? The millions of children being exploited in sweatshops would probably like to take the day off too. The work must be done, and failure wasn’t an option. No excuses.
“Waaaaait a minute,” she said, peering into my face. “We’ve met before.” I looked more closely at her too. A different name came to mind. “Luna!”
“Robin!” she responded. That had been the nom de guerre I’d used long ago: Robin Banks. The New York Times actually printed it, not noticing the pun, under a photo of me at a protest against the KKK in Atlanta back in 1988.
We figured out how long it had been since we’d worked together in New York: twenty-six years. It seemed fitting that my path, which had split off from the RCYB/RCP in the mid-1990s, had converged here with that of a long-ago comrade. The system was grinding forward with an intensity of violence that couldn’t have been imagined by our young selves, and here we were again, confronting it still.