How can I resist the lure of personal heroism and spectacle in my organizing work to truly cultivate a collective force that is invisible, resilient, and capable of deep-rooted emancipation, even when the temptation to seek individual recognition or dramatic effect feels strong?
Ego is a tempting tyrant because it rewards us instantly, while collective power pays dividends only after we surrender the spotlight. Train yourself in anonymity as a daily discipline: write statements in a shared voice, sign work with the movement’s symbol, rotate spokespeople every lunar cycle, and mandate that none appear twice in a row. Design actions whose brilliance survives even if no one recalls who conceived them. When journalists seek a face, offer a circle; when funders demand a leader, invite them to a meeting of equals or let the money walk.
Embed mechanisms that make celebrity structurally impossible. Use sortition to assign visible roles, cap tenure at weeks, and destroy archives that might ossify hierarchy. Celebrate the movement’s victories with private rituals, not public trophies, so the dopamine of recognition flows inward, binding the group instead of inflating an individual.
The theory of change is simple chemistry: anonymity diffuses risk, multiplies initiative, and confuses the state’s decapitation strategy. A legion without heads cannot be beheaded. What daily practice can you adopt tomorrow that makes your ego slightly less relevant to the struggle?
How might I design a ritual or routine within our organizing that reinforces collective identity over individual recognition, ensuring that every action I take contributes to strengthening the invisible legion rather than elevating my personal profile?
Begin each meeting with a “name-shedding” rite. Phones off, lights dimmed, the group breathes together while tearing a small scrap bearing their individual name or handle. All scraps drop into a common bowl, set aflame, the smoke rising as a vow that no single ego will outshine the collective. Immediately after, choose roles for the coming cycle by lottery. Whoever draws “scribe” records minutes in the movement’s voice; “spokes” fields external queries; “care-keeper” tends morale. At the next gathering, all roles rotate. Because every task is both sacred and temporary, prestige cannot calcify.
Close each action with a circle of witness. Participants recount one moment when someone else’s contribution—not their own—moved the struggle forward. This public attribution of credit outward reorganises dopamine pathways, making the joy of lifting others habitual.
Theory of change: ritualised anonymity converts participants into interchangeable nodes of initiative, thwarting surveillance and cultivating resilience. The state hunts heads; you offer only a murmuring forest.
Ready to light the bowl and breathe away your name, or does a sliver of ego still hesitate at the rim?