What happened when the anarchists moved in

From AZ Central - by Brian Rinker
AN AILING MAN'S DECISION CREATED RIPPLE EFFECTS FOR A GROUP OF ANARCHISTS, THEIR CAUSE AND THE NEIGHBORHOOD AROUND THEM.
Neighbors knew William Krist as a friendly guy, a “sweetheart” who liked to garden and give away fresh vegetables. His children knew him as a chain-smoking eccentric and a “mild hoarder,” but also as their dad, who loved the desert and his freedom. The anarchists knew him simply as Krazy Bill.
Krazy Bill had a long, scraggly, gray beard and an eye patch. People say he rarely went anywhere without a 9mm pistol stuffed in his front pocket and an American flag handkerchief to blow his nose with. He drove a burgundy 1972 Lincoln Continental Mark IV, and passengers soon discovered he was prone to cut into traffic without looking, cars honking and screeching to a halt.
For decades, Krazy Bill —or just KB, his initials reversed— acted as a father figure to many in the Phoenix activism scene, and even with his rough exterior, many knew him best as a humble, loving man.
For the longest time, Krazy Bill lived on Hubbell Street in the Coronado neighborhood, a block from the ball field and swimming pool of Coronado Park. He smoked a couple packs a day, or the equivalent, rolling his own from tobacco in a can.
Three years ago, health problems forced Krist to move in with family, abandoning the house.
Squatters came and went, leaving behind a maze of extension cords and a mountain of waste. Inside, garbage, debris and junk piled high. The Lincoln sat idle in the driveway, coated with years of dust.
Eventually, neighbors nailed boards across the windows and doors to keep the scavengers out. Weeds grew unchecked where once gardens had flourished, attracting a citation from city inspectors.
Around that time, Krazy Bill connected with an anarchist collective that was loosely based in Tempe, which called itself Carpe Locus. The group was looking for a home. Bill invited them to use his house, if they could clean the weeds and clean the garbage out.
And so it was that in April 2015, the anarchists arrived on Hubbell Street. They planned to occupy Krazy Bill’s place, fix it up and turn the ’40s-era tract house into a meeting spot for radical-activism folk. Krist joined their collective, and waited for the day he would be well enough to move back home.
Carpe Locus is a fledgling collective, which was formed a year ago by four friends who wanted to do more than just talk anarchy; they wanted to live it. In their view, Phoenix had lacked adequate anarchist hangout spots for years.
Accepting a rather malleable translation of Latin, the group’s name means “seize the opportunity.” And opportunity came in the form of the brick house on Hubbell Street.
The collective is small — it had just five members before it added Krazy Bill.
Beth Payne works in day care. A 33-year-old mother of two, she acts as the group’s unofficial den mother. She has dark hair, rounded bangs, and can fire off well-versed anarchist ideology with ease.
Rose Coursey, 23, works as a research assistant at a behavioral-health non-profit. She’s the quiet one, a soft-spoken anarchist with reddish-purple hair and a nose septum ring. She was an honor student who earned a liberal arts degree from Arizona State University.
Dale Vaughn works as an electrician. At 36, he is the “old man” of the group.
Ed Medina works as a “capitalist wage slave.” He’s the funny one, of course, a 22-year-old whose charm and style fails to fit the stereotype of the angry anarchist wearing all black.
“I used to be a socialist,” says Medina, his sunglasses hanging off his button-down shirt. “Oh, wait, don’t write that.” They all laugh. The anarchists have a lot of inside jokes, and socialism seems to be the punchline in many of them.
Then there is the group’s newest recruit: Kameron Fein, 25, a punk-rock anarchist who works the graveyard shift at a hotel and skateboards on a longboard around Tempe.
So far, Fein is the only recruit to successfully complete the collective’s initiation process. He started a gardening collective, although he missed the summer growing season. The other members jokingly refer to him as “probate.” Sometimes they pretend to forget whether they actually voted him in or not.
When the collective got to Krazy Bill’s, they brought with them some other “radical comrades.” Together they cleared the backyard — burning weeds, dead trees and palm fronds. They hauled two 40-yard dumpsters worth of trash from the house.
Krazy Bill was using a scooter and oxygen tank. Still, he hoped one day to return home. In the meantime, the anarchists had full rein to transform his home into a meeting spot for anarchists and others. They made plans for a front yard and back yard where they could put down some anarchist roots: community garden, fire pit, skateboard ramp and all.
The house became known as “the Space.”
On a weeknight in June, Ed Medina sits on the couch in the living room with his laptop working on his resume. In a loud voice, Medina asks Beth Payne if he can use her as a reference for a job application. That’s fine, she says.
The living room walls are painted like a desert night landscape, dark blue with stars and a satellite near the ceiling. Above Medina’s head, a window air-conditioner blows a current of cool air. The rest of the room is hot.
The central air and heating doesn’t work. Another AC unit cools off a small day-care room at the back of the house, but the rest of the house is hot.
The library room, with its thrift-store classics and National Geographic magazines: hot.
The print shop room, with a handful of used printers that might one day spit out troves of anarchy zines and flyers: hot.
But the hottest room of the house is the kitchen, where Payne is cleaning up after a weekly food-prep session for Food Not Bombs, which feeds vegetarian and vegan meals to the poor. Eliot, Payne’s 2-year old daughter, who is named after T.S. Eliot, runs back and forth from the day care to the kitchen.
“Hello pumpkin,” says Payne, who is kneeling on the floor in front of the refrigerator throwing old tomatoes into a plastic bag.
“Hi Mommy,” Eliot says. “What’s you doing, mommy?”
“Throwing these yucky tomatoes out,” Payne says.
Helping Payne in the kitchen is Elizabeth Venable. She is a Krist family friend.
Venable says she isn’t an anarchist. “At this time, right now, I’d like to go by libertarian socialist,” Venable says.
“It typically means anarchist,” Payne clarifies and laughs. Some people, Payne says, worry about the stigmas attached to the word anarchy.
Many people think anarchy means no rules — chaos. But that’s not true. Anarchists do follow rules. Anarchists don’t believe in rulers or hierarchies, or police or government, but they do believe in small, autonomous and leaderless communities where everyone has an equal vote.
“I prefer to be more specific in what I believe,” Venable reasons.
In an ideal world, to an anarchist, we would all live in collectives similar to Carpe Locus — tight-knit groups of people who grow their own food, barter or trade for goods and, most importantly, watch each others’ backs. Land, to the anarchists, is something to occupy — never own. Anarchists like to imagine what life was like before human civilization. A time where people had to depend on one another for survival. Like one big family, anarchists imagine. Ideally, anarchists would have no rulers, no police, no electoral system.
Instead, Carpe Locus had the Space.
Vaughn, the electrician, had rewired the house and even upgraded the electrical panel. As for air-conditioning, at least they have the window unit. But the greatest obstacle the anarchists face at the Space is the plumbing, which is shot. It needs a complete overhaul. No water. No bathroom. People have to go to the nearby park or gas station if they need to use the restroom. Until the collective can fix it, the Space will only be partially operational.
When the anarchists first arrived, they held an open house for “neighbors and comrades” to mix. They knock on doors when they have events and encourage neighbors to partake in all the Space has to offer: Grab something from the free store on the side of the house and get ready for the soon-to-be-built skateboard ramp.
The house is meant to be more than a meeting place for anarchists. It is open to the public. And Payne would like to see the neighborhood take advantage of the day care, the print shop, the library and anything else the house can offer. Payne says that anarchy is about community — all are welcome.
“We have a responsibility to participate in our community,” she says. “There’s no point in anarchists just talking to anarchists, you know. That would be like super insular.”
Neighbor Susan Adams has no problem with the anarchists next door. She even donated a striped sleeper couch, which now resides in the library.
“They’re quiet and I get to hear guitar music in the evenings when they’re here,” Adams says.
“As far as I’m concerned,” Adams says, “there’s absolutely nothing weird about it other than that it’s kind of weird there’s a community center right there.”
When the anarchists introduced themselves to neighbor Lisa Ramirez, she didn’t know what to think. She didn’t know what a 24/7 community house meant and her neighbors, well, looked different — unique.
“Are you a house that’s a resource for the neighborhood or are you a house for homeless people and teen runaways,” Ramirez wonders. “I’m kind of concerned. I have teenagers.”
Ramirez said the anarchist alleviated her concerns, telling her that they would direct people to services elsewhere. No one would actually live in the house, and alcohol and drugs weren’t allowed. The Space is dry.
“I don’t know any anarchists. I don’t even know what that means,” Ramirez says. “I think they’re anti-police and anti-government. But they don’t seem hostile.”
“What I noticed the most was their politeness,” Ramirez says.
By mid-June, the anarchists were gathering momentum. Day by day the Space came together. More people were getting involved. Collectives formed. New projects created.
And just when things were taking off for the anarchists, their patron member, Krazy Bill, died. He was 66 years old.
Ownership of the house would go to his two sons, Josh and Jesse Krist.
The death of Krist took many by surprise. Jesse Krist, his son and caretaker, didn’t think his dad would die so soon.
“All those years of hard living finally caught him up to him,” said Jesse Krist, who took care of his dad during the last years of his life.
The same month Krist died, the lease on the apartment Jesse shared with his dad expired. Jesse Krist thought about moving into his father’s house, a space that was now transformed into the Space.
Carpe Locus began to worry that their seized opportunity would slip away.
“We weren’t sure what would happen when he passed,” Payne said. “We didn’t know if they were going to be like, ‘This is our house, get out. We don’t want a bunch of anarchists living in the house.’”
The brothers went to talk things out with the anarchists. Perhaps, Jesse Krist could move into one of the rooms, the collective could use the house on the weekends.
But the Space was just taking off, Carpe Locus told the brothers. They needed only one year. By then, the anarchists reasoned, the new collectives and projects would be strong enough to survive on their own. They would pay utilities and rent if needed.
The brothers agreed to allow the anarchists one more year. They figured that’s what their father would have wanted.
“We definitely want to see our dad’s legacy live on,” Josh Krist said. “Our dad told us, it’s your house, but I want you to do right by them.”
A month prior, Jesse Krist had visited his dad’s house for the first time in 10 years and was amazed. The house was like “night and day.” Even when his father lived there, it was a mess, Jesse said. Bill Krist was a mild hoarder, his son said, a sore spot for him growing up.
Jesse Krist understood why his dad had believed in the collective. After all, look at what they had done for his home. It was the cleanest he’d seen it in decades, maybe ever.
“This was like the one thing toward the end of his life that was giving him hope,” Jesse Krist said. “He thought he would move back here one day.”
It’s a hot Friday night at the end of June. A black flag rides gently in the evening breeze.
Nearby on the window, finger painted in mud, is a capital A with a circle around it, the symbol for anarchy.
Some mourners play the guitar and a ukulele on the backyard couch at the Space.
Beth Payne sits on the edge of the skate ramp, huddled close to her daughter and partner. Ed Medina is nearby, reclining on the ramp, and Dale Vaughn stands near the back of the crowd. Rose Coursey sits in one of the mix match chairs, all of which have been scavenged or donated.
Josh Krist stands in front of the gathering of friends, relatives, activists, anarchists — maybe even a few socialists. He holds a can of Bugler loose tobacco, empty now, and full instead of the ashes that remained of Bill Krist.
He sprinkles his father’s remains out of the can into a freshly dug hole in the yard. Then Josh Krist planted an agave.
“I think most people agree it’s pretty appropriate because my dad loved the desert, and it’s just a little bit prickly — like my dad,” says Josh Krist.
Kameron Fein stands by the hole in the ground, directing the planting process: three inches of soil, ashes, agave, then more soil.
A floodlight shines on an empty wooden chair. Jesse Krist takes a seat and lights an American Spirit.
Puffing on the cigarette, Jesse Krist tells the story of the time he dropped LSD in his early twenties. He came home at the peak of his trip. Unable to maintain, he confessed to his dad what he had taken. William Krist looked at his son and smiled, then said, in essence, let me show you how we old-timers used to do it. He went to the stereo and put on Jimi Hendrix’s “Purple Haze.”
“That was the thing about my dad, he didn’t judge me,” Jesse Krist says. “He accepted me for who I was.”
Josh Krist pats down the dirt around the agave cactus. “My dad always said he wished he was religious but he just couldn’t buy it,” Josh Krist says. Everyone laughs. “But he did have a favorite book of the Bible: Ecclesiastes.”
He recites his favorite line:
“One generation passes away, another generation comes, but the earth abides forever.”
Krazy Bill had finally returned home.
The gathering begins to disperse. Jesse and Josh Krist depart. The collective retires to the living room with the remaining guests. They grab the leftovers and the guitars.
And like on most nights, neighbors on their evening walks might pause for a moment in front of the Space, tilt an ear, and listen to the sounds of acoustic guitar and the soft melodious voices of singing anarchists.

Comments
Anonymous (not verified)
Thu, 08/06/2015 - 23:07
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This is sad news. Rest in
This is sad news. Rest in Power KB.
Anonymous (not verified)
Fri, 08/07/2015 - 01:24
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I have been working on a
I have been working on a larger article announcing his departure. Will be soon.
Anonymous (not verified)
Fri, 08/07/2015 - 02:00
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Does the Space have a website
Does the Space have a website or contact information?
Anonymous (not verified)
Fri, 08/07/2015 - 08:47
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Website info
Www.carpelocus.org/space
Www.facebook.com/thespacephoenix
community (not verified)
Fri, 08/07/2015 - 06:19
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KB will be missed but carpe
KB will be missed but carpe dingus is generally considered a joke in phoenix. but if you want to join it sounds like they will make you jump through some hoops and call you a probate because anarchists are totally about hierarchy arent they? btw did anyone go see this presentation at the american anthro association conference? "Anarchy in the AZ: Gaining Trust and Acceptance within the Carpe Locus Anarchist Collective in Phoenix, Arizona". sounds interesting. https://aaa.confex.com/aaa/2014/webprogram/Paper42073.html
Anonymous (not verified)
Sat, 08/08/2015 - 09:37
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… yeah, that's not the kind
… yeah, that's not the kind of hierarchy that worries me as an anarchist
commenter (not verified)
Sat, 08/08/2015 - 19:35
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well
It's indicative, I think, of the fact that Carpe Dingus is more leftist than anarchist. I mean, I don't know why anyone in their very small group would dispute that characterization. They revel in their leftishness and their stated objective of building a leftist-liberal activist community. Which is why it's funny that the images from their website aren't even from Phoenix. Pics of decaying Detroit. I mean, I gotta give them some credit for turning the idea of community into an opportunistic Stalinist attack. They continue to fuck up and use it as a defense from criticism. Granted, it makes them paranoid as fuck. But outside the anarchist scene, it seems to work. Wherever CD happens to be, that's the community, even if it's different from where their community was just a day before. Community was Tempe, now it's Phoenix. Basically, Carpe Dingus will speak for anyone and everyone if it suits their purpose. And anyone who disagrees with CD (and there are so, so many reasons to disagree -- and CD has done so, so much sketchy and offensive, hypocritical shit) gets denounced as anti-community or attacked with liberal ally politics. Fact is, most anarchists in Phoenix don't want anything to do with Carpe Dingus. Bill was a great guy, but I disagree with his decision while deathly ill to let CD have the space, even if I understand it, having known the man for a decade and a half. As is to be expected, after having failed to set up their own infoshop in Tempe, they seized the opportunity when it came up. "Carpe Locus," after all. And now they have a new community to speak for. There's a Carpe Dingus drinking game in Phoenix that anarchists play. Every time they say "community," take a drink.
question (not verified)
Fri, 08/07/2015 - 20:38
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just a minute of your time comrades
Were people notified at Krazy Bill's funeral that a reporter would be present taking notes? Cuz it sounds kind of gross not to tell people that and then to use the funeral as part of a PR piece to justify your group's seizing of the opportunity. Just curious.
Anonymous (not verified)
Fri, 08/07/2015 - 21:14
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I was present, and heard
I was present, and heard nothing about a reporter being present. It's unfortunate that CL kept that to themselves as many people told stories with details they may have withheld had they known a reporter was present in a professional capacity. Really disrespectful to those attending and, yes, gross.
Anonymous (not verified)
Sat, 08/08/2015 - 03:14
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Yes
The reporter introduced himself to just about everyone present, and was there on the wishes of the family. He asked each person whose story he shared if they would be comfortable with him writing about it, and only one person said no. He did not use their story. Nobody was quoted or paraphrased without their express consent.
Lies (not verified)
Sat, 08/08/2015 - 16:09
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I was there, I spoke, and I
I was there, I spoke, and I never met a reporter, nor did three other people who were present who I've spoken to since this article came out and I'm sure I'll talk to others.
Anonymous (not verified)
Sat, 08/08/2015 - 17:21
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Were you quoted or paraphased
Were you quoted or paraphased? No. Was your face depicted in any photos or your name used? No. If the reporter never talked to you or used any of your information or story, it's unclear what your issue is. Every single person who was quoted, paraphrased, or had their faces shown in a picture gave full consent. Again, the family wanted the reporter to be present because he was writing a memorial piece. It was on the event page and impossible to miss his presence. He didn't go around interviewing mourners, he talked to the family members and people he'd already connected with. He wrote a wonderful piece that really captures KB's spirit, and Bill's sons were very touched by it.
Anonymous (not verified)
Sat, 08/08/2015 - 17:31
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^ LOL This is the reporter
^ LOL This is the reporter all butthurt. Dude, didn't you know somebody died? It ain't about your ego dude, so chill out.
Anonymous (not verified)
Sun, 08/09/2015 - 12:26
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haha, I'm not the reporter. I
haha, I'm not the reporter. I'm 100% certain that the reporter has no idea that anarchist news exists. He's just some dude.
Anonymous (not verified)
Sun, 08/09/2015 - 12:38
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You don't have to be afraid
You don't have to be afraid to admit you are an egomaniac protecting your precious article through sockpuppetry. This isn't the first nor the last time a reporter has come on here to defend their article. You are welcome to just take a chill pill and remember Krazy Bill and how he helped out all the people you were so proud of writing an article about. Pretend we don't exist like you said you would and you'll probably have a better day than you have had worrying about what we are going to say next.
Anonymous (not verified)
Mon, 08/10/2015 - 09:38
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What does this even mean.
What does this even mean.
Anonymous (not verified)
Sun, 08/09/2015 - 02:01
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And here again, disagreements
And here again, disagreements about the way CD is doing things are laughed off as jealousy or "being mean." Look, the people on the other side of this in this convo not CD just need to start playing their game. I know I personally am from here on out. The major ridiculous part is they seem to feel that their criticism and problems with people are extremely valid and need to be respected while those of them are laughable.
It's a real easy solution and it's to do the exact same thing they are doing. No more taking anything they say about anyone seriously. That's it. It's not hard and it should be that way from here on out. I know for me, anything else said about me is immediately and will forever in my mind be considered a joke. Whatever it is.
Anonymous (not verified)
Sat, 08/08/2015 - 08:32
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I was at the memorial and it
I was at the memorial and it was announced on the event page that there would be a reporter present and that nobody would have to talk to him. it would have been pretty hard not to notice him, he introduced himself to everybody lol. But it makes sense since he was writing a memorial piece that he would be there
Anonymous (not verified)
Sat, 08/08/2015 - 17:48
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Yeah, just went and looked at
Yeah, just went and looked at the event page the space put up, and zero on there about a reporter being present. And no, the reporter did not introduce himself to everyone. Try again.
LOOKER (not verified)
Sat, 08/08/2015 - 19:36
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event page
I just looked at the event page, too. No mention of a reporter.
Anonymous (not verified)
Sun, 08/09/2015 - 09:26
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EVERYONE GO INSANE!
THERE'S A REPORTER IN OUR MIDST
Anonymous (not verified)
Sun, 08/09/2015 - 09:54
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Yeah and he is one of the
Yeah and he is one of the commenters and he's totally butthurt about being called out. I was like "dude, chill out" and the mods were like "no way is that going to fly" and wham! my comment disappeared. I'm trying to deescalate the situation and they'd prefer this reporter continue to make some poor man's death all about him and his ego.
Hey reporter! Cool story bro!
Hey mods, check yo moderation and use a little better discretion next time. Having a hard on for deleting posts is a sign that you probably need to take a break because you definitely aren't practicing as an anarchist among anarchists. Smoke some weed.
Anonymous (not verified)
Mon, 08/10/2015 - 08:07
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You do realize it's entirely
You do realize it's entirely possible that you're completely off the mark and that's just another random person pointing out that you were making a big deal about nothing?
Anonymous (not verified)
Mon, 08/10/2015 - 09:50
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Okay, instead of answering
Okay, instead of answering you properly, I'm going to challenge you. What are my real intentions? Do you think I'm accidentally getting it wrong or intentionally? Why? Once you can answer that, you might stop being such a moral dandy.
Anonymous (not verified)
Sun, 08/09/2015 - 16:57
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EVERY FUCKING THING WE'VE
EVERY FUCKING THING WE'VE DONE IS SHIT SHIT SHIT
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