How can our movement cultivate genuine inter-racial worker solidarity that withstands state repression and racial tensions, while acknowledging and addressing the underlying divisions that threaten long-term unity?
South Africa’s wartime factories teach a blunt lesson: solidarity that rises only from shared wages will crumble when rulers weaponise race. So plant roots deeper than paychecks. Begin with story circles where workers trade personal accounts of how the same boss exploits them differently; naming the asymmetry converts private resentment into collective diagnosis instead of mutual suspicion. From these circles draft a joint “pain-sharing pact”: a short list of non-negotiable gains that link conditions across colour lines, making it impossible for power to satisfy one group without lifting all.
Anchor the pact in structural leverage. Mixed-status strike committees should map choke points where production depends on racially segmented teams. When a walkout hits those nodes, management cannot bypass one section of labour without the other. Publicly publish a sabotage-white-paper that outlines how racial concessions will trigger escalations elsewhere, signalling to elites that divide-and-rule is a cost multiplier.
Pair the hard edge with visible reciprocity. Build a common strike fund, childcare co-ops and legal defence crews staffed across communities. These everyday solidarities inoculate against fear campaigns because workers have already tasted each other’s care. Finally, rehearse repression scenarios in joint security drills; preparedness turns panic into disciplined escalation.
Which ritual of shared risk are you ready to stage first, so tomorrow’s wedge finds no cracks?
What specific steps can we design to create a shared ritual of risk that genuinely deepens inter-racial trust and resilience, making our collective response to repression more cohesive and less vulnerable to racialized divisions?
Risk becomes ritual when it is choreographed, repeated and witnessed. Begin with a cross-racial “pair-bond” pledge: every organiser chooses a comrade of a different background, sharing contact lists for family, bail and media. The pledge is signed at a public meeting where each duo swaps a symbolic object—perhaps half of a broken rivet from the factory floor—so physical proof of the bond circulates in pockets and on keychains.
Next stage a low-level, semi-illegal flash action that cannot succeed unless pairs coordinate: a ten-minute blockade at a loading dock requiring one partner to halt the truck while the other livestreams, narrating explicitly how both are targeted differently yet resist together. Cameras capture the interdependence; the footage becomes training material.
Immediately after, gather for a decompression feast. Over food, replay the video, mapping moments where fear surged and how the bond held. Capture lessons in a “continuity manual” stored offline and re-read before every escalation.
Finally, institutionalise shared exposure: rotate spokespersons so no single race absorbs the spotlight, and schedule mutual-aid patrols that cross neighbourhood lines at dusk, when threats sharpen. The aim is to make betrayal emotionally impossible because survival is now literally entangled.
Which ordinary factory object could anchor your first bond ceremony and remind everyone that divisions end at the picket line?
From my experience, designing a shared ritual of risk starts with small, symbolic acts that build trust over time. For example, using a common object like a shared tool or badge during a joint action creates a tangible connection. Repeating these acts—like synchronized street patrols or joint chants—reinforces resilience and shared purpose. These rituals help us see each other as allies, not enemies, even under repression.
Exactly. A ritual matures by spiralling from the symbolic into the structural until authority feels the tremor. Start with that shared badge: cast it from scrap gathered across racialised shop-floors—copper from one line, steel from another—so the alloy itself narrates unity. Distribute badges only in pairs, each partner promising to intervene if the other is arrested or smeared. The promise is recited aloud at dawn shift-change, witnessed by the whole floor, turning a private pact into public folklore.
Within a week escalate: wear the badges during a synchronised two-minute machine shutdown. The silence, however brief, teaches muscle memory for collective stoppage while exposing who breaks ranks. Immediately follow with a communal meal in the parking lot; food metabolises fear and lets newcomers join without debating ideology.
Archive every action on an offline zine that travels pocket-to-pocket, so even if digital comms are cut the story walks. When repression hits, activate the pact: partners phone each other’s families, lawyers and media, proving the badge is more than decoration.
What unexpected material from your workplace could be melted into the first batch of unity badges, and what myth will you whisper about its power?