Libertarian Socialist or Anarcho-Communist? Depends on Who’s Asking.

When a Democrat asks about my politics, I tell them I’m a Libertarian Socialist. It sounds just palatable enough to pass through their MSNBC filter. You get the “socialist” part—Bernie vibes, maybe some Chomsky seasoning—and “libertarian” makes it sound like I still believe in rights or property or some other adult word they can handle.

But when a Republican asks? I’m an Anarcho-Communist.

No soft edges. No training wheels. I want them to picture Molotovs, mutual aid, and the local Starbucks being reclaimed as a community kitchen. I want them to flinch like they just heard “abolish landlords” whispered behind their 401(k).

The thing is, it’s all the same to me. Libertarian socialism, anarcho-communism—both oppose capitalism, hierarchy, and the state. The labels are just different levels of shock therapy depending on who’s in front of me.

I’m not here to fit into anyone’s Overton window. I’m here to kick the damn thing open.

Democrats still think change comes from voting a little harder. Republicans think billionaires are their friends. I don’t have the patience to explain mutual aid to someone clutching a Pelosi bobblehead, or the difference between anarchism and chaos to a guy with a Punisher sticker on his pickup.

So I adjust the mask, not to deceive, but to translate. Because if you say “anarcho-communism” to a liberal, they hear “chaotic Stalinist death cult.” And if you say “libertarian socialist” to a conservative, they hear “soy boy who hates America.

I just believe no one should rule and no one should starve.

I want a world built on cooperation, not coercion. A world where communities thrive without CEOs, landlords, or billionaires buying bunkers while the world burns.

If that sounds extreme, maybe the problem isn’t the label. Maybe the problem is the system that makes those ideas sound extreme in the first place.

The Duopoly is a Disease

In the land of the free, we are given a choice every election cycle: Red or Blue. Coke or Pepsi. The illusion of choice wrapped in patriotic fanfare. But beneath the spectacle lies a truth most Americans feel in their gut but rarely say out loud: the two party system is a rigged game, a duopoly that has hijacked our democracy.

The Democratic and Republican parties are not ideological opposites; they are co-managers of an empire. One plays good cop while the other plays bad cop, but both serve the same masters: corporations, lobbyists, and the wealthy. They compete for power the way monopolists “compete”: by making sure no true alternative ever gains traction.

Independent and third-party candidates are routinely locked out of debates, buried by media blackouts, and crushed by impossible ballot access laws. Why? Because both parties know that real competition would expose how little they offer beyond symbolic bickering and bipartisan stagnation.

The duopoly thrives on division. Democrats and Republicans whip their bases into a frenzy over culture issues while quietly agreeing on endless war, corporate welfare, and mass surveillance. It’s no accident. The spectacle distracts us while they pass the same bloated Pentagon budgets and sell off public goods to private hands.

Gridlock isn’t a bug, it’s a feature. It keeps meaningful reform off the table. Medicare for All? Dead on arrival. A living wage? Maybe by 2050. Climate action? Let’s ask ExxonMobil how fast we can move. The duopoly ensures nothing truly threatens their donors’ profits.

Leftist movements such as socialists, anarchists, and greens are smeared or ignored not because they’re fringe, but because they challenge the core of the system: capitalism, imperialism, police power. The establishment doesn’t fear chaos, it fears organization. It fears a population that realizes there are more than two ways to govern ourselves.

Likewise, when libertarians call for ending wars or dismantling the surveillance state, they’re treated as dangerous radicals. Any idea outside the red-blue matrix must be neutralized.

So what’s the way out?

Break the machine.

It starts with refusing to legitimize the duopoly. Don’t let “vote blue no matter who” or “lesser evilism” guilt you into obedience. Demand more: ranked-choice voting, proportional representation, ballot access reform, we need mass political education and direct action.

We need to organize outside their system. That means building dual power: worker co-ops, mutual aid networks, radical unions, and community councils that don’t wait for permission from Washington. The future won’t be won in the voting booth alone. It will be built in the streets, on picket lines, and in the quiet rebellion of everyday people saying “enough is enough.”

The bottom line is this: the two party system is not a democracy. It’s monopoly politics. It doesn’t represent us. It contains us. And like all monopolies, it must be broken.

We don’t need better Democrats or nicer Republicans. We need a new system entirely, one that serves people and not profits.

Pissing off the Conservatives and the Liberals

Labels are like Molotov cocktails: fun to throw, even better when they cause confusion.

When I say I’m a libertarian socialist, it’s not just because it captures my politics–anti-authoritarian, anti-capitalist, pro-human dignity–it’s also because it makes certain leftists squirm. The ones who hear “libertarian” and think I’m about to start quoting Ayn Rand and Milton Friedman in a hemp hoodie. They freeze up, like I just talked poorly about Bernie Sanders and AOC.

But there’s history here. Libertarianism didn’t start with capitalist bootlickers hoarding Bitcoin and prepping for the apocalypse. It started with radicals who believed freedom meant freedom from landlords, bosses, and the state. Think Mikhail Bakunin, not Jeff Bezos. So yeah, I’m reclaiming it. And if that irritates some who think socialism only works when it comes with a five-year plan and a side of surveillance? Even better.

Then, when I pivot and say I’m an anarcho-communist, the right melts down like I just canceled Christmas. Suddenly I’m the Antichrist in a Che Guevara shirt. “You want no government and no private property?” they sputter, like I’ve just broken the laws of thermodynamics. “How will you survive without a job and a boss and a sacred chain of command?”

Easy. Mutual aid. Direct action. Horizontal structures. Also spite. Lots of spite.

I say I’m an anarcho-communist to watch their heads spin as they try to square the idea of radical cooperation with their Fox News-induced visions of chaos. To them, communism means gulags and stale bread, and anarchy means Mad Max with gender pronouns. They’ve never read Kropotkin. They’ve never imagined a world without Amazon trucks and landlord parasites. They’ve only learned fear.

So I play the game. Libertarian socialist to make the left clutch their pearls. Anarcho-communist to make the right reach for their ammo. The truth is, I’m both. And neither. I’m here to break binaries, not settle into them.

The goal isn’t to be understood. It’s to force people to think. If they walk away annoyed, confused, or–miracle of miracles–curious? Mission accomplished.

Trumpism vs Conservatism

Once upon a time, conservatism had a brand. You might not have liked it–hell, you might have hated it–but you knew what it stood for: limited government, free markets, family values, and a worship of Ronald Reagan that bordered on the religious. It was buttoned-up, corporate-friendly, and polite at dinner parties. Conservatism had talking points, a think tank for everything, and just enough moral panic to keep the suburban vote.

Then came Trump.

Traditional conservatism is like a country club: exclusive, outdated, and pretending it’s still 1955. It champions small government while bloating the military. It preaches personal responsibility while handing tax breaks to the wealthy. It’s a polished ideology, wrapped in American flags and “founding father” cosplay, with a Constitution in one hand and Ayn Rand in the other.

At its core, conservatism believed in institutions such as courts, constitutions, and capitalism. You could argue with it, debate it, but it had a script. Trumpism burned the script though.

Trumpism isn’t an ideology. It’s a vibe. A movement built not on principles but on performance. Trumpism is what happens when conservatism gets radicalized by reality TV, Twitter algorithms, and decades of right-wing media rage. It’s not about shrinking government. It’s about weaponizing it. It’s not about free markets, but about loyalty, tribalism, and the illusion of “winning.” Where conservatism says “let’s preserve tradition,” Trumpism screams, “Burn it down unless it worships me!”

Trumpism didn’t evolve from conservatism. It hijacked it. It slapped a red hat on it, handed it a flamethrower, and said, “Say something racist on live TV.” Suddenly, the old guard–McConnell, Bush, Cheney–look like moderates. Even Mitt Romney, the human embodiment of corporate power is now “too liberal” for the party he once led.

This isn’t a party shift. It’s a personality cult, draped in the decaying skin of the GOP.

If you’re hoping this ends with a return to “normal,” good luck. “Normal” is what built the staircase Trump descended. Conservatism laid the foundation. Trumpism built the casino on top and rigged every slot machine to spit out conspiracy theories and bootlicking.

But here’s the thing: we don’t have to pick between Reagan’s America and Trump’s circus. The problem isn’t just the flavor of right-wing decay, it’s the whole rotten system. Conservatism and Trumpism are two wings of the same vulture, circling the corpse of a world built on exploitation. So…

What if we stopped trying to salvage this system altogether? What if we built something beyond it? No billionaires, on bootlickers, no CEOs, no bosses. No political theatre where our choices are a condescending suit or a fascist clown. Imagine direct democracy. Mutual aid instead of tax breaks for mansions and yachts and private jets. Housing and food because you’re alive, not because you’re useful to a corporation. Community defense instead of bloated police budgets. Power, not hoarded at the top, but shared at the roots.

We don’t need Trumpism or conservatism. We need liberation. Burn the script. Burn the stage. Tear it all down and re-build something worth living in.