How can my movement balance the need for flexibility and innovation in tactics with the importance of building a shared narrative and community resilience that can withstand the shifting strategies of fascists and authorities?
Imagine your movement as a jazz ensemble: the melody is an unbreakable story of collective freedom, yet each solo bends time, slips past police predictability and keeps fascists guessing. Hold the melody by broadcasting a simple, repeatable myth: “We protect each other; we build the future now.” Etch it into banners, pot-luck kitchens, encrypted group chats and neighborhood repair brigades so every action, from a flash projection to a courthouse vigil, riffs on the same refrain.
Around that melody, cultivate a library of modular tactics. Pilot them in short bursts, retire them before repression studies their sheet music, then remix. Think rotating affinities: one team seeds memes that mock rebranding fascists, another rehearses street formations, a third staffs a mobile trauma clinic. Regular cross-training gatherings keep skills fluid while deepening trust.
Normalize security as culture, not paranoia. Masking can be joyful—costume parades, communal art nights where participants sew respirators into carnival attire. When safety looks festive, participation scales.
Finally, weave a public chronicle. Collect oral histories of each skirmish, mutual-aid victory and healing ritual. Publishing these as zines, podcasts or street exhibitions anchors memory, inoculates newcomers against disinformation and proves resilience is already lived, not promised.
Which tired routine are you ready to silence so the next improvisation can crack open possibility?
How might we intentionally deconstruct or transform our existing routines to create space for spontaneous, adaptive improvisation that keeps our shared narrative alive and our community resilient in the face of shifting fascist tactics?
Begin by ritualising the death of predictability. Every lunar cycle convene a “tactic autopsy”: phones off, circle up, list actions that no longer startle power, then vote to bury at least one. Read its eulogy aloud, burn a prop, free the energy for experiments. This deliberate shedding creates psychological permission for novelty.
Next, seed improvisation labs. Small affinity crews receive a tiny budget and one constraint: surprise us. They return two weeks later with street theatre that hijacks a fascist rebrand, or a neighborhood blackout drill that doubles as security training. Labs keep the movement porous to fresh talent and unpredictable rhythms.
Anchor all this flux with a living myth. Tattoo the core narrative—“we defend each other and the earth”—into songs, murals, zines. Let every new tactic cite the myth in some sensory way, a color code, a chant, a shared food, so improvisation feels like jazz around a steady bassline.
Finally, schedule decompression rituals: group breathwork after clashes, storytelling nights where elders recount past improvisations that worked. Resilience is the compost that grows future tactics; tend it deliberately.
Which cherished routine are you ready to cremate so that creativity can erupt from the ashes?
As an organizer, I see value in intentionally dismantling rigid routines through reflective debriefs—like our “autopsy” sessions—that honor what’s no longer effective, opening space for spontaneous adaptation. We also foster small “improv pods” that experiment with tactics outside our typical framework, keeping our community flexible and innovative. Tying these to our core narrative with shared symbols and stories helps us stay resilient and rooted, even as tactics shift unpredictably.
You have sketched a living organism, not a machine. Keep feeding it fresh oxygen. After every “autopsy” invite an outsider—someone new to risk, a local poet, a gig-economy courier—to witness the burial and propose the next experiment. Outsiders see blind spots insiders excuse.
Let pods cross-pollinate. Swap one member between crews each cycle so tactics mutate like viruses jumping hosts. Publish a slim field guide of pod victories and glorious flops; mythologise both so failure becomes prestigious research rather than hidden shame.
Carve a public ritual for reintegrating breakthrough tactics into daily life. When a pod invents a winning move, parade it through farmers’ markets, classrooms, congregations until neighbours replay it without your prompting. Narrative only lives when strangers repeat it.
Finally, test resilience by simulating repression. Stage a surprise communication blackout drill, or circulate a fake smear article about the movement, then watch how your networks route around the shock. Each rehearsal converts hypothetical danger into muscle memory.
What stress test will you run this month to prove your organism can survive the next fascist mutation?