Getting Caught: Call for stories about the times you didn’t get away

  • Posted on: 15 September 2018
  • By: Anonymous (not verified)

Submitted anonymously to North Shore

It happens. When you’re pushing limits, trying to find new ways to fight back, sooner or later you might get caught. And it’s not the end of the world.

The first time my house got searched, it was 3am. I was all in black with a dufflebag over my shoulder full of crowbars, bolt cutters and gloves, and I was on my out the door. But through the front window, I saw flashing lights and then the shadows of cops walking dogs back and forth on our lawn. They had the street closed off.

Yes, getting busted sucks and let’s keep finding ways to avoid it. But there’s value in sitting a while with that moment when you realize you aren’t getting away this time. Reflecting on them can give courage and determination to keep going, to try again, to fail better.

I was 19. I grabbed my roommates who were awake and as the pounding on the door started we tried to decide what to do. They were shining flashlights through the window and knocking on the glass. We decided I would go outside porch to talk to them and my roommate would lock the door behind me.

“Getting Caught” aims to be a place to tell those stories. Submit your very short stories (300 words. The shorter the better) about times when you didn’t away. We’ll collect them and publish them as a pretty risographed brochure, as a pdf, and maybe on a website. You can email your submission to (PGP key here) or you can leave them as a comment on this post on North Shore Counter-Info. If they’re clearly marked as submissions, the mods have agreed to send them along. All submissions will be anonymized even if you tell us who you are. Get your submissions in by October 31, 2018 and the collection will be ready before New Year’s eve.

The cops said they were just looking for some guys who robbed a gas station across the street. If we just let them in, they wouldn’t notice anything that wasn’t those guys. They promised. “But if you make us get a warrant…” I tapped to be let back in to talk with my friends. The house was surrounded. The pounding on the door resumed almost immediately after it closed behind me.

Looking forward to reading you. Stay safe. Never stop.

(Si vous préférez écrire en français, il nous est possible de traduire ton histoire vers l’anglais, alors allez-y, écrivez-la!)



Was the first kettle I ever saw

I knew it was risky business. The fog hung heavy like a wet blanket over the shoreline as I trudged towards the secret rendezvous, the mansion of a woman who was married to a corporate millionaire. She had secrets I needed badly, and my radical irreverence for all ideological customs drove me on as I scaled the walls and made my way towards the door which she had left unlocked. Slowly climbing the stairway, I felt like a warrior entering the capitalist enemy lair, violating their smug, arrogant and aloof disdain for the anarch outcastes like myself. I grinned, and then suddenly, in the dim moonlight filtering through the lace curtains I saw her beckoning me to her room, a magnificent plushly furnished abode full of plants and velvet and gold ornately edged furniture. We spent an hour exchanging vital information and secret details, the times her filthy capitalist swine of a husband worked, the disgusting exploitation his company had to do with sweat shops in underdeveloped countries, the terrible toll pollution derived from his company's industry had on drinking water, and the psychopathic insensitivity of the husband's regard for his underpayed staff and poverty stricken workers. Suddenly bright headlights pierced the glossy walls of her bedroom,
"IT MUST BE HIM" ! she screamed, "GO, OR HE WILL KILL YOU! " I scrambled out of the luxurious bed naked and desperately tore on my jeans and black windcheater.
" Hurry my rebellious anarch lover, until later " she blew a kiss as I climbed out the window and down the trellis into the courtyard. Another heroic blow and act of insurgency against the capitalist hegemony by a brave Stirnerian knight.

More, plz.

Whilst exiting the courtyard, I heard the sudden barking of the 2 Rottweiler bullmastiff guard dogs exploding through the gap in the hedge which led to the wall. From the balcony a torch beam suddenly cut the darkness like a laser sabre.
"Who violates the elite domain of my extravagant existence!" cried the filthy capitalist tycoon.
"TEAR THEIR THIEVING ARMS AND LEGS FROM THEIR TORSOS OH BRUTUS AND ADOLF, MY MAGNIFICENT CANINE GUARDIANS! The cruel corrupt multinational shareholder screamed into the night air.
I immediately took out my spray bottle filled with skunk scent and as the 2 mighty dogs burst through the opening I let go into their ferocious snarling mouths a pungent blast of the natural non-toxic repellant and sniggered as they turned yelping and whining in full retreat. This was my moment, I burst out like an olympian sprinter off the blocks, weaving between the slashing light beams of the torch until I came to the citadel's perimeter wall, and with one mighty leap, attained the crest.
From the window came the angered threat of the conquered capitalist swine. " OOOOH YOU SCOUNDREL, I SHALL NEVER REST UNTIL I SEE YOU IN CHAINS IN ONE OF MY COMPAÑY RUN PRISONS! ".
I dropped to the ground and scampered along the misty beach towards the distant lights of the ghetto where the hungry children awaited my spoils. Yes, the artful insurgency of the Stirnerian takes many forms of subversive actions before it is recognized for what it is, the most intelligent and sensible way to live.


I didn’t get away from being an anarchist, my life has been a wreck ever since, along with the world. Thank goodness. Good riddance, good times.

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