When I was fifteen, I found a torn copy of Living My Life wedged behind a row of used books at a dusty thrift store. It wasn’t a planned discovery. It was more like fate—or maybe it was Emma, reaching out from history with her ink-stained fingers to slap me awake.
I grew up in a world that prized obedience, politeness, and the illusion of safety over truth. I was taught to be small, quiet, agreeable. But something in me always burned. I just didn’t have the words for it yet. Not until I met Emma Goldman.
Reading her was like learning a new language—the language of defiance. Suddenly, the knot of frustration I carried every day had a name. Injustice. Patriarchy. State violence. Capitalist greed. She didn’t just name the monsters; she showed me they could be fought. That you could laugh and love and live while swinging fists at the system.
It wasn't just her politics that moved me. It was her humanness. Her contradictions. Her tenderness. The way she fought tirelessly, even when she was exhausted, exiled, or alone. She wasn’t trying to be perfect—she was trying to be free.
And that became the call in my own bones: freedom, not just for me, but for everyone.
Emma taught me that being radical wasn’t about shouting the loudest or being the most correct. It was about integrity. About risk. About love. She made space in my mind for a future I could actually believe in—one where art, mutual aid, and collective care weren’t luxuries, but fundamentals.
When I read about how she would walk for miles in worn-out shoes to speak to factory workers, or how she risked everything to smuggle information and organize women, I realized something: revolution doesn’t start with guns or manifestos. It starts in the guts of the people who refuse to accept the world as it is.
Years later, I would go on to build a life outside the system, shaped by those same fires she lit in me. I’d leave behind jobs that drained me, walk away from respectability, pour myself into art and resistance, create something real from the wreckage. Emma walked beside me the whole way, her ghost whispering reminders: joy is not a distraction; it is the point.
This isn’t just a tribute to her. It’s a thank-you letter. Emma Goldman gave me a mirror that reflected something other than compliance. She showed me that I wasn’t broken or crazy; I was alive.
And now, when I write, when I protest, when I dance barefoot in defiance of despair, I carry her with me.
The revolution is long, but it’s made of people like her. People like us.
Still dancing. Still dangerous- Let's look deeper.
Revolutionary, Feminist, Anarchist Icon
Emma Goldman (1869–1940) was one of the most influential political thinkers and activists of the early 20th century, though her name is often left out of mainstream history books. Born in present-day Lithuania, Goldman immigrated to the United States at 16 and quickly became a towering voice in anarchist, feminist, and anti-capitalist circles.
Goldman's beliefs were radical then—and still radical now. She challenged the institution of marriage, advocated for women's access to birth control, and stood fiercely against capitalism, war, and authoritarianism in all forms. Her speeches drew massive crowds, and her writings electrified working-class movements around the world.
She co-founded the anarchist journal Mother Earth and was imprisoned multiple times for her activism—including for speaking about contraception and opposing U.S. involvement in World War I. In 1919, she was deported during the first Red Scare alongside other radicals, ending her time in the U.S. but not her fight.
Emma’s legacy continues to inspire those who refuse to compromise their beliefs in exchange for comfort. In an age where activism is often sanitized, branded, or co-opted by capitalism, Goldman’s raw, uncompromising fire feels more vital than ever. She believed that political struggle must be intertwined with passion and joy—a message that resonates deeply in our era of burnout and cynicism.
Why does she matter now?
Because she reminds us that resistance can be beautiful. That we don’t have to be polite to be powerful. And that freedom isn’t something granted—it’s something taken, created, and lived.
So as we face ongoing struggles for bodily autonomy, workers’ rights, racial justice, and queer liberation, Emma’s spirit remains a guiding force.
Emma Goldman didn’t believe in waiting for permission. She believed in action—raw, brave, sometimes dangerous action. To her, words were important, but only if they moved people to do something. She didn’t want to be a symbol. She wanted to shake the system.
And she did.
Throughout her life, Emma Goldman was involved in acts of direct action that challenged the power structures of her time: the state, the church, the prison system, the patriarchy, and the capitalist machine. She knew the risks, and she never flinched. These were not stunts. They were strategies. And they lit fires that still burn.
1. The Attempted Assassination of Henry Clay Frick (1892)
Goldman’s early political life was marked by solidarity with the working class, particularly during the violent labor struggles of the late 1800s. After the Homestead Strike, where Carnegie Steel’s hired goons opened fire on striking workers, Goldman and her partner Alexander Berkman hatched a plan to assassinate Henry Clay Frick, the plant manager responsible for the brutality.
Berkman carried out the attempt and was imprisoned for 14 years. While Goldman didn’t physically pull the trigger, she helped plan and defend the act, viewing it as “propaganda of the deed”—a dramatic act meant to expose the violence of capitalism and inspire resistance. It was a controversial stance even among radicals, but for Goldman, it was about justice for the working class when the courts and cops failed them.
2. Advocating for Birth Control (1910s)
At a time when simply talking about contraception was illegal in the United States, Goldman toured the country giving speeches on birth control and distributing information to working-class women. She was arrested multiple times for this, but she refused to stop. She saw access to contraception as a cornerstone of women’s freedom—an act of resistance against both religious morality and patriarchal control.
She didn’t just talk theory—she brought pamphlets, gave practical advice, and risked jail to ensure that women could make choices about their own bodies.
3. Anti-Draft Resistance During WWI
When the U.S. entered World War I, Emma Goldman stood firm against it, calling it a capitalist war fought on the backs of the poor. She and Berkman organized the No Conscription League, encouraging young men to resist the draft. They held rallies, printed flyers, and openly defied the law.
The government responded by arresting both Goldman and Berkman under the newly minted Espionage Act. They served two years in prison before being deported in 1919. Goldman never regretted it. For her, resisting war wasn’t unpatriotic—it was the highest form of loyalty to humanity.
4. Organizing Labor and Anarchist Movements
Goldman spent decades giving fiery speeches across the U.S., often to packed halls and in the face of hecklers, cops, and hired thugs. She supported unionization efforts, especially among garment workers, and helped organize strikes. But unlike some leftist leaders of her time, she didn’t believe in power for its own sake—her goal was to awaken consciousness, to ignite people’s sense of dignity and possibility.
She also co-founded Mother Earth, an anarchist magazine that ran from 1906 to 1917, publishing works that challenged authoritarianism, capitalism, and state violence. The magazine itself was a form of direct action—spreading ideas that could mobilize hearts and minds.
Why Direct Action Matters Now
Emma Goldman’s life is a masterclass in political courage. She didn’t wait for perfect conditions. She didn’t tone herself down to be more palatable. She acted.
In today’s world, where protest is often reduced to hashtags or diluted by politics-as-branding, Goldman reminds us that real change often comes from acts that are inconvenient, risky, and real. Whether it’s organizing mutual aid, confronting police brutality, defending bodily autonomy, or creating alternatives to oppressive systems, the spirit of direct action is still alive—and necessary.
Goldman wasn’t trying to be safe. She was trying to be free. And she wanted us to be free too.
So when we honor her memory, let it not just be in words.
Let it be in what we do.
