Accidental Death Of An Anarchist

Dario Fo's play Accidental Death Of An Anarchist was a roaring success tonight at our local Curio Theater here in the neighborhood. The play is both disturbing and hilarious, the acting was superb, and the points at which the adaption tweaks the 1969 original all enhance the play's original intent.

It's a farce about the lies told by police to cover up their own crimes against citizens, and to conceal their true mission of ruthlessly protecting the regime. Like the book The Wooden Leg Of Inspector Anders by Marshall Browne, which I read last week, it's set in Italy and the anarchists in its story are framed with the crimes of extreme right-wing elements.

I saw the play on the day when the last US troops left Iraq. All day I listened to NPR for the big tamale, the major point of this historic moment, but it was mentioned only once in passing by an interviewee. The big point is that the Bush administration deliberately started the war, and that the war amounted to nine years of crime against Humanity. NPR seems to forget a few years' worth of its own reporting. Instead it talked about investment opportunities in the ravaged country and repeated the official drivel from our president's lips.

It's a moment for dark sentimental reflection. I recall when Richard Nixon died, and the Media told us about how he had left office with such dignity. I was shocked by those words. The man was drink-worn, blubbering on and on about how nobody would remember his deceased mother and how "she was a saint!" It was not dignified. It was pitiful. The term "dignity" applied only where the listener was presumed to be an idiot, and the listener was the general public.

That is the sort of thing that first caused me to look into anarchist ideas over twenty years ago. I discovered when I was past thirty that my awareness of world affairs was equal to a that of a child.

The performance tonight included a teenager (not in the picture) whose proud anarchist parents were in attendance, and who had two brief cameo appearances in the play. I remember her when she stood as high as my knee!

This was a fine production of the right play, in the right place (our anarchist ghetto), at the right time.