a profoundly hopeful type of boring
Most of them see the world as catastrophically fucked up and blame big business, which is protected by imperialistic governments, for that fucked-uppedness. They realize their vision of the world is pitted against the tremendously intimidating inertia of a status quo that has oceans of money and oceans of weapons to protect it. But a deep vein of hope runs through all the conversations as well. They wouldn't be taking these risks, doing what they do, if they didn't think they might be able to turn the tide. In Graeber's words: "Since one cannot know a radically better world is not possible, are we not betraying everyone by insisting on continuing to justify, and reproduce, the mess we have today? And anyway, even if we're wrong, we might as well get a lot closer."
When the smoke has dispersed and the glass is swept up, the riots and smashups—the spectacular moments when newspapers and television stations pay attention to anarchists—are the exception, not the rule, of anarchy. The hard day-to-day work of building anarchist organizations is about figuring out budgets and scheduling meetings and getting into the thick muck of group decision making.
From the outside, anarchy might look threatening and scary and exciting. From the inside, anarchy can seem quite boring. But it is a profoundly hopeful type of boring.