Decolonizing Anarchism on Stolen Land

Introduction

Every radical movement on this continent faces a question it would rather postpone: what does it mean to fight for freedom on stolen land?

You can organize against capitalism. You can blockade pipelines. You can build cooperatives, communes and mutual aid networks. But if the ground beneath your projects remains governed by settler colonial title, then your revolution risks becoming a renovation. You repaint the house while ignoring the deed.

Settler colonialism is not an episode in the past. It is a structure that organizes property, law, borders and belonging in the present. It underwrites capitalism and shapes the state. It arranges who is disposable and who is presumed to belong. Any movement that fails to situate itself inside this structure will unconsciously reproduce it.

For anarchists, the tension feels sharp. You resist imposed authority. You champion autonomy and voluntary association. Yet decolonization calls you to defer to Indigenous laws and sovereignty, to recognize yourself as a guest, not an owner. Is this a betrayal of anarchist principles, or their maturation?

The path forward requires a strategic shift. You must move from abstract anti-oppression to concrete land-based decolonization. You must treat Indigenous sovereignty as strategically central, not peripheral. And you must redesign your prefigurative projects so they dismantle, rather than replicate, colonial land relations. The thesis is simple and demanding: on stolen land, authentic revolution begins with Indigenous jurisdiction.

Settler Colonialism as Strategic Context

Movements often frame their struggle around capitalism or the state. Both are formidable adversaries. But in North America and other settler societies, they rest upon a deeper foundation: the ongoing occupation and governance of Indigenous lands.

To ignore this is to misdiagnose the system.

Colonialism as Structure, Not Event

Settler colonialism differs from classical colonialism. It is not primarily about extraction from afar. It is about replacement. Settlers come to stay. They seek land, not just labor. The elimination of Indigenous presence, whether through physical removal, assimilation or legal erasure, becomes foundational to the new society.

This structure shapes everything. Property law is built upon dispossession. Municipal boundaries overlay treaty violations. Resource extraction depends on denying Indigenous jurisdiction. Even progressive reforms often presume the legitimacy of the colonial state’s territorial authority.

If your movement organizes for housing justice without confronting whose land the housing occupies, you remain inside the colonial frame. If you build a community garden and speak of reclaiming the commons without acknowledging prior Indigenous governance, you risk reenacting the original theft under a softer name.

Strategic Centrality and Movement Blind Spots

Every movement has blind spots shaped by its social position. In the United States, white supremacy has often been named as strategically central, meaning it structures the terrain on which all other struggles unfold. In settler societies, colonial dispossession is equally central. It precedes and organizes racial hierarchies, capitalist development and state formation.

When anarchist spaces focus narrowly on insurrectionary spectacle or subcultural infrastructure, they can drift into abstraction. Info shops and black bloc tactics may feel radical, yet they rarely challenge the foundational question of land. Without anchoring your analysis in settler colonialism, your resistance floats above the ground it claims to defend.

The history of mass protest confirms this danger. The global anti-Iraq War marches of February 2003 mobilized millions across hundreds of cities. They displayed moral opposition at unprecedented scale. Yet they did not halt the invasion. Size alone did not alter the structural conditions of power. Movements that ignore underlying structures mistake volume for leverage.

In settler contexts, the underlying structure includes the presumption that the state holds legitimate sovereignty over Indigenous territories. If your campaign does not contest that presumption, you operate within it.

Reframing the Commons

Progressive movements often speak of reclaiming the commons. The language feels emancipatory. But commons for whom?

If land is treated as empty or as a neutral resource awaiting collective management, the colonial gaze persists. A decolonial commons requires reorientation. It begins by recognizing that the land is already governed by Indigenous laws and political orders that predate and outlast the settler state.

The strategic move is subtle but profound. Instead of asking how settlers can share land more equitably among themselves, you ask how to transform settler Indigenous relations so that Indigenous sovereignty becomes paramount. Only then can any discussion of shared use or autonomy proceed ethically.

This reframing sets the stage for a deeper tension: how can anarchists, committed to autonomy, defer to Indigenous political systems without surrendering their principles?

Autonomy, Voluntary Deferral and Indigenous Law

At first glance, deferring to any law appears incompatible with anarchism. You resist imposed authority. You reject top down governance. Yet the key word is imposed.

What if deference is voluntary?

Visitors on Indigenous Land

If you live and organize on Indigenous territory, you are there because colonial processes displaced others. You did not personally author the conquest, yet you benefit from its outcomes. Recognizing yourself as a visitor reframes your politics.

Voluntary association is a core anarchist principle. You choose your affiliations and your commitments. Choosing to enter into accountable relationships with Indigenous nations, including adherence to their laws and protocols, can be understood as an expression of autonomy rather than its negation.

The distinction lies in consent. The settler state claims jurisdiction without Indigenous consent. An anarchist collective can choose to recognize Indigenous jurisdiction precisely because it refuses the state’s authority.

Indigenous Political Systems Beyond the State

A common fear is that deference to Indigenous sovereignty means endorsing another version of the state. This conflates Western models of sovereignty with diverse Indigenous political traditions.

Many Indigenous governance systems are grounded in relational accountability, consensus processes, clan responsibilities and land based obligations. They are often anti capitalist and deeply skeptical of centralized coercive authority. While they are not identical to anarchism, they share affinities: decentralization, collective decision making, emphasis on reciprocity.

This does not romanticize Indigenous governance. No political system is pure. Internal conflicts, patriarchy and power imbalances exist in every society. Yet the point is strategic. Aligning with Indigenous resurgence does not mean trading one Leviathan for another. It can mean strengthening anti state, anti capitalist alternatives rooted in specific territories.

Delegating Authority as Radical Gesture

Imagine an anarchist collective deciding that its community space will operate under protocols developed in consultation with the local Indigenous nation. Imagine codifying in its bylaws that certain decisions, especially those involving land use, require alignment with Indigenous law.

This is not submission. It is a radical delegation born of historical awareness. It acknowledges that anarchist autonomy exercised on stolen land is compromised. By deferring, voluntarily and revocably, you create a new political relation.

The relationship must be real, not symbolic. It requires ongoing dialogue, material support and willingness to accept outcomes you did not script. Autonomy persists because the association is chosen. But colonial possession fractures because the settler collective no longer assumes ultimate authority.

This tension becomes productive. It forces anarchism to mature beyond abstraction and confront the geography of power.

From Prefiguration to Land Back

Anarchists often champion prefigurative politics. You build the world you want to see in the shell of the old. Cooperatives, communes and mutual aid networks embody alternative values.

Yet on stolen land, prefiguration can quietly reproduce colonial relations.

The Risk of Reproducing Colonial Title

When settlers create land trusts, ecovillages or communes without Indigenous leadership, they may entrench the very property relations they critique. Even if ownership is collective, the underlying title often remains derived from colonial law.

This creates a paradox. A radical project that seeks to escape capitalism may stabilize settler control over land. The experiment becomes a kinder occupation.

Historical examples reveal the stakes. In the nineteenth century, some utopian communities in North America preached equality and communal ownership. Few confronted the fact that their land was recently seized from Indigenous nations. Their radicalism stopped at the property line.

If your movement repeats this pattern, you innovate tactically but decay morally. Authority adapts. It tolerates alternative lifestyles as long as the foundational land regime remains intact.

Rematriation and Material Surrender

Decolonization demands material shifts. Symbolic acknowledgments at meetings are insufficient. Land back is not a metaphor.

This does not mean every collective can immediately transfer full title of its space. Legal and financial barriers are real. But strategy is incremental. You can begin by:

Transferring portions of revenue to Indigenous governed land trusts.

Placing conservation easements that recognize Indigenous stewardship rights.

Supporting rematriation projects that return specific parcels to Indigenous women led initiatives.

Offering infrastructure, equipment and labor to Indigenous land defense camps.

Each act shifts degrees of sovereignty. Instead of counting rally attendance, you measure jurisdiction expanded.

The Quebec casseroles of 2012 offer a lesson in diffusion. Nightly pot and pan protests spread block by block, transforming households into participants. The tactic succeeded because it invited intimate, localized action. Land based decolonization can follow a similar pattern. Small transfers, repeated across neighborhoods, accumulate into structural change.

Aligning Direct Action with Indigenous Leadership

Direct action remains vital. Blockades, occupations and strikes disrupt extractive projects. But who sets the target and the timing?

When Indigenous nations call for defense of a territory against a pipeline or mine, anarchist participation can amplify structural leverage. Standing Rock demonstrated this fusion. Ceremonial camps, grounded in Indigenous spirituality and law, combined with physical obstruction of construction. The movement blended subjective and structural power.

The lesson is clear. Shift from leading campaigns about Indigenous issues to following Indigenous leadership on land defense. Bring your skills, your bodies and your resources. Accept that strategy may not mirror your usual tempo. This is not passivity. It is alignment.

In doing so, you reorient from enemy focused spectacle to sovereignty focused intervention.

Building Reciprocal Sovereignty

If decolonization is to be more than solidarity, it must transform relationships.

Covenants, Not Coalitions

Coalitions are often transactional. Groups align for a specific campaign, then disperse. A covenant is deeper. It is a living agreement rooted in shared territory and long term accountability.

An anarchist collective can initiate a covenant with a local Indigenous nation that includes:

Regular listening circles convened by Elders.

Clear protocols for consultation before land based projects.

Commitments of labor, funds and decision making seats.

Conflict resolution processes grounded in Indigenous law.

This formalization guards against charismatic drift. Deference becomes structural rather than dependent on individual relationships.

Measuring Sovereignty, Not Symbolism

Movements often measure success in media hits, turnout or policy concessions. Decolonial strategy requires a different metric: degrees of Indigenous jurisdiction.

Has decision making authority over a specific territory shifted?

Has a new Indigenous governed institution been resourced?

Has a colonial permit been blocked due to Indigenous assertion of law?

These are tangible indicators. They force your collective to evaluate whether its actions materially challenge settler sovereignty or merely critique it.

The Diebold email leak in 2003 showed how distributed digital action could expose vulnerabilities in electoral systems. Students mirrored internal corporate emails, and when legal threats escalated, a congressional server joined the mirroring effort, blunting repression. The tactic exploited a speed gap. Similarly, land based campaigns can exploit bureaucratic inertia by rapidly mobilizing support around Indigenous jurisdiction claims before institutions coordinate countermeasures.

Strategy is applied chemistry. Mix voluntarist energy with structural timing and Indigenous law. Heat the reaction through direct action. Then cool it into stable institutions under Indigenous governance.

Guarding Against Romanticism and Tokenism

Authentic integration also requires critique. Settlers can romanticize Indigenous communities as inherently pure or unified. This flattens complexity and evades responsibility. Indigenous nations contain diverse political perspectives, including those that may align with corporate interests.

Decolonization is not blind allegiance. It is principled commitment to Indigenous self determination, even when internal debates occur. Your role is not to adjudicate those debates but to respect processes and avoid instrumentalizing them for your agenda.

Tokenism is another risk. Inviting an Indigenous speaker to an event without shifting power structures changes little. Structural deference means redistributing decision making authority and resources, not just stage time.

The deeper work is cultural. You must unlearn the reflex to lead, to innovate first, to assume universality. Sometimes the most radical act is to listen and follow.

Putting Theory Into Practice

To move from principle to action, your movement can begin with concrete steps:

• Conduct a land audit. Map every property, lease, investment and asset your collective controls. Research the Indigenous nations whose territories you occupy. Identify existing land back or rematriation initiatives.

• Initiate accountable relationships. Request meetings with representatives or Elders chosen by the Indigenous community. Enter as listeners. Ask what support is desired rather than proposing prepackaged campaigns.

• Restructure governance. Amend your bylaws to require consultation on land related decisions. Create reserved seats for Indigenous representatives in decision making bodies if invited. Formalize protocols so deference is embedded.

• Transfer material resources. Commit a fixed percentage of revenue to Indigenous led land trusts or defense funds. Explore legal pathways for co stewardship agreements or title transfers. Publicly report progress to maintain accountability.

• Align direct action with Indigenous calls. Prioritize participation in campaigns initiated by Indigenous nations. Offer logistics, media skills and bodies while respecting leadership structures and cultural protocols.

• Create rituals of reflection and decompression. After intense campaigns, hold spaces to process, learn and recalibrate. Psychological resilience is strategic. Burnout undermines long term sovereignty building.

These steps will not resolve every tension. They will, however, anchor your movement in land based reality.

Conclusion

On stolen land, neutrality is complicity. Every garden, every cooperative, every march unfolds within a colonial geography. The question is whether you will treat that geography as background noise or as the primary battlefield.

Authentic decolonization demands that anarchism evolve. Autonomy must be exercised through voluntary, accountable relationships with Indigenous nations. Prefigurative projects must be redesigned to transfer, not entrench, land control. Direct action must align with Indigenous leadership and measure success in sovereignty gained rather than spectacle achieved.

This is not a charitable add on to anti capitalist struggle. It is the ground condition. Without it, your revolution risks becoming a new administration of the old order.

The invitation is difficult and electrifying. Imagine a movement that treats every asset as potentially transferable, every decision as accountable to the first peoples of the land, every tactic as a step toward Indigenous jurisdiction. Imagine counting not bodies in the street but acres returned, laws revitalized, councils empowered.

Revolution begins the moment you stop asking permission from the state. On stolen land, it deepens when you start asking permission from the land’s original stewards.

What would change in your organizing this month if you measured success only in degrees of Indigenous sovereignty restored?