Margaret Killjoy reframes the very concept of political victory, arguing that the most enduring revolutions are not defined by their triumphs, but by their relentless capacity to endure failure. In a landscape often paralyzed by the fear of irreversible decline, she offers a counterintuitive thesis: the absence of a "bottom" to human suffering is not a cause for despair, but the very foundation for optimism. This piece cuts through the exhaustion of modern activism by suggesting that every act of resistance, even those that end in defeat, actively prevents a worse reality from taking hold.
The Architecture of Suffering and Hope
Killjoy opens by grounding her philosophy in the stark reality of current events, noting that we could easily live in a world without "livestreamed genocide" or "concentration camps that do double duty as grifts." She posits that the current moment feels uniquely dire because we have recently lived in a time that was, by comparison, less catastrophic. This historical perspective is crucial; it dismantles the idea of a linear slide toward doom. As Killjoy writes, "There's not actually a bottom we can hit. There's bad and there's worse and there's worser, but there isn't worsest."
This observation serves as a pivot point for her argument. If suffering has no limit, then the fact that it is not currently infinite is a testament to human effort. She argues that billions of people are constantly working to stop the worst-case scenarios from becoming reality. This reframing transforms the activist's role from a winner of utopia to a guardian against the abyss. "We are succeeding at stopping an infinite amount of suffering, even if we aren't succeeding at stopping all suffering," she asserts. This is a powerful, if sobering, metric for success that validates the work of those who feel they are constantly losing ground.
There's not actually a bottom we can hit. There's bad and there's worse and there's worser, but there isn't worsest.
Critics might argue that this perspective risks normalizing incremental suffering by treating it as an inevitable baseline. However, Killjoy's intent is not to accept the status quo but to measure progress by the prevention of total collapse. She emphasizes that the grand drama between oppression and liberation is ongoing, and that "fascism will never win in any permanent sense. It will always collapse."
The Dignity of Defeat
The core of Killjoy's essay challenges the popular slogan "when we fight, we win." She finds this ambiguous and often factually incorrect, noting that from an objective standpoint, social movements often lose. She recalls standing in a clearcut forest she tried to defend, a vivid image of tangible loss. Yet, she argues that these losses are not futile. "Revolutions are built on failure," she writes, explaining that it is our tenacity and endurance that distinguish us from our enemies. "We fail, over and over again, until one day we win."
She illustrates this with the metaphor of running uphill during a police chase. The logic is simple: the oppressor has less motivation to endure the hardship of the chase than the activist has to escape. This dynamic of endurance is where the power lies. She recounts an anecdote about an old punk activist who, despite being beaten badly by fascists, persisted until the fascists left town. "Because the antifascists wanted the nazis gone more than the nazis wanted to be there," Killjoy explains. This highlights a fundamental weakness in authoritarian ideologies: they rely on the perception of power and often flee when the tide turns.
Killjoy draws a parallel to the Irish struggle for independence, which took 800 years of repeated failures before achieving partial success. She cites a statement from the Provisional Irish Republican Army that captures the essence of this long-game strategy: "we have only to be lucky once, you will have to be lucky always." This shifts the focus from immediate tactical victories to the strategic necessity of persistence. The enemy must be perfect every time; the resistance only needs to be right once.
We fail, over and over again, until one day we win. It's our tenacity and endurance that sets us apart from our enemies.
While Killjoy's focus on the moral victory of resistance is compelling, it does not fully address the material costs of prolonged failure. The human toll of decades of struggle, imprisonment, and violence is immense, and not every community survives to see the "one time" they get lucky. Yet, her point remains that without the refusal to surrender, the possibility of change vanishes entirely.
Walking Toward Anarchism
Killjoy concludes by invoking the Italian anarchist Errico Malatesta, whose life and writings emphasize the process over the destination. Malatesta's vision of anarchism is not a static utopia to be imposed, but a society based on "free and voluntary accord" where no one is forced to command or be commanded. Killjoy highlights his assertion that the goal is not whether we accomplish this today or in ten centuries, but that "we walk towards Anarchism today, tomorrow, and always."
This final framing dissolves the anxiety of the timeline. It suggests that the value of the struggle is inherent in the act of walking together toward a better world, regardless of the final destination. Killjoy notes that even the brief, imperfect experiments in places like Chiapas or Northeastern Syria prove that a better world is possible. "They exist, and they're better," she states, reminding readers that these models are not theoretical but lived realities, however threatened they may be.
The subject is not whether we accomplish Anarchism today, tomorrow, or within ten centuries, but that we walk towards Anarchism today, tomorrow, and always.
This approach offers a sustainable emotional framework for activists facing an increasingly hostile political climate. By decoupling hope from immediate victory, Killjoy provides a roadmap for long-term resilience. The argument holds up well against the cynicism of the current era, though it demands a level of psychological fortitude that not all can sustain without support.
Bottom Line
Killjoy's strongest contribution is her redefinition of victory as the prevention of the worst-case scenario rather than the achievement of a perfect one. Her argument's vulnerability lies in the immense human cost of the "failure" she champions, which can be difficult to reconcile with the urgent needs of those suffering today. Readers should watch for how this philosophy of endurance translates into concrete, short-term strategies for community survival in the face of accelerating authoritarianism.