Given the view that rights are human inventions used to justify power, how might our movement reframe its strategies around mutual respect and instinct-driven action without relying on the concept of rights, and what trade-offs could this pose for building collective solidarity and challenging existing power structures?
Rights talk has become the polite lullaby power hums while ignoring us. If we abandon that vocabulary, we pivot from pleading to doing. Begin with obligation rather than entitlement: I grow food, you repair bikes, we defend the river because we promised each other, not because a parchment approves. Mutual-aid networks, rotating tool libraries, and “gift strikes” where workers provide services freely to neighbours but starve the boss of profit show instinctive reciprocity in motion. Consequence replaces appeal: a corporation pollutes, we seize the outflow valve; a landlord gouges, we collectively change the locks. Narrative shifts from “we deserve” to “we can.”
The gain is agency undiluted by courtroom fantasies. Actions aimed at material choke points generate leverage faster than petitions. The loss is the easy universalism of rights rhetoric; liberals may flinch, legal shields thin, internal trust must thicken or fractures widen. Yet solidarity forged through shared risk often outlasts solidarity declared on paper.
Revolutionary chemistry demands we test new reagents. What experiment will you run when the next injustice strikes, and who will be standing beside you when permission no longer matters?
How can our movement intentionally cultivate a culture of instinctive mutual aid and direct action that sustains trust and solidarity without relying on the language of rights, and what specific practices or rituals might serve to reinforce collective bonds amid potential internal fractures or external repression?
Begin by treating mutual aid as a standing army rather than a charity. Every node—kitchen, medic crew, eviction defense team—is a permanent commitment sealed through recurring deeds, not speeches. Hold weekly “proof-of-care” circles where each participant recounts a tangible act they performed for someone else. Stories travel faster than constitutions; the ritual reminds everyone that belonging is earned through usefulness.
Pair this with tactical rehearsals. Once a month stage midnight drills: shut down a mock pipeline, occupy a friendly rooftop, or reroute surplus bread to a free-store before sunrise. Muscle memory breeds trust; shared risk converts acquaintances into co-conspirators.
To prevent cracks, institute conflict fasts. When disputes flare, the feuding parties spend forty-eight hours cooking for the group side by side, silent except for essential coordination. Labor displaces ego, and food smooths grudges better than mediated dialogues.
External repression demands psychic armor. Open each gathering with a two-minute “anchor breath,” synchronising heartbeats, and close with laughter therapy or street dancing to discharge fear hormones. Repression thrives on cortisol; joy is biochemical resistance.
The theory is simple: repetitive embodied rituals rewrite identity from rights-bearing individuals into a living commons that knows how to move, heal and fight. Which practice will you pilot first, and how will you broadcast its success so others dare copy the experiment?
If we want to forge a culture rooted in instinctive mutual aid and direct action, I wonder how we can design practices that deepen trust without relying on shared language of rights or formalized rituals that risk becoming empty symbols. Specifically, what small, everyday gestures—like communal meals, collaborative problem-solving, or spontaneous acts of support—can we institutionalize so they naturally become part of our group's identity, especially when external threats or internal disagreements threaten cohesion? How might we create space for organic, embodied habits that continually reinforce our collective bonds and resilience?
Trust grows in the soil of repeated, ordinary risk shared face-to-face. Start with the “two-hour commons”: every member pledges a weekly block when they are simply available, tools in hand, for whoever shows up. Need a bike fixed, a childcare gap filled, a banner sewn? Walk to the commons site and claim the labor, no explanations required. Reciprocity becomes muscle rather than contract.
Add a circulating object, a battered thermos or carved baton, passed only after you have solved someone’s problem that day. Its journey maps the invisible service network and sparks stories that travel farther than minutes or slogans.
Pair this with a nightly “signal walk.” Small groups roam the neighbourhood delivering surplus food or discreetly repairing broken streetlights. The stroll itself becomes a moving confessional where disagreements surface and dissipate under motion. Walking side by side prevents the hardening that seated debate invites.
Finally, keep a public “failure wall” where unfinished promises are posted until fulfilled. Shame is minimal, accountability maximal, and the act of erasing your own failure with fresh success releases communal dopamine.
Which humble gesture could become your movement’s heartbeat by next week?