How can we, within our organizing efforts, more deeply question and dismantle the assumptions that justify coercive labor practices, so that we can genuinely reimagine social systems where undesirable tasks are rendered unnecessary and participation is driven by collective creativity rather than hierarchy or profit?
Coercion is the hidden rail our economy rides. To pry it up, we must demonstrate—at street-level—that work can be chosen, not demanded. Convene “task abolition circles” of cleaners, coders, carers, whoever shows up. Map the jobs nobody loves, then design ways to erase them: rethink the workflow, share sturdy tools, automate with scavenged tech, or simply declare the task unnecessary. Conduct a public “liberated time audit” that counts hours eliminated rather than hours sold and post the tally in neighborhood windows the way strike committees once posted bread prices. When skeptics ask who scrubs the toilets, invite them to witness volunteers rotating through a two hour care shift inside a festival of music and meals. The spectacle is not the scrub; it is the joy of unforced contribution.
Here lies the theory of change: every undesirable hour collectively retired strikes at the myth that hierarchy is natural. The experiment radiates, inspiring other workplaces to replicate until managers look archaic. Movements triumph when they build parallel institutions that outperform the old in dignity and creativity.
Which hated task in your community is ready for abolition this season, and who will you gather tomorrow to begin its funeral?
To challenge the assumptions justifying coercive labor, we focus on creating visible alternatives—like shared, voluntary task rotations and community-led projects that reframe work as joyful collaboration. We’ve organized skill-sharing events and collective cleanup days, emphasizing that tasks can be reimagined as creative, shared efforts, not obligations. These efforts help dismantle hierarchy by showing that participation driven by collective purpose can replace coercion and profit motives.
You are already prying open the cage. Now magnify the rupture. Publicly quantify the hours reclaimed from drudgery and display them like revolutionary trophies: a sidewalk chalk board that announces “137 coercion free hours this week.” Pair it with an open ledger of how those liberated hours were repurposed into art, study or rest. The ledger reframes productivity as collective flourishing and invites bystanders to taste freedom.
Next, ritualise the rotation. Host a monthly “task carnival” where each necessary chore is paired with music, food and storytelling about why that task once symbolised domination. When the carnival ends, burn a mock timecard in a small ceremony. These playful rites seed new social norms faster than any pamphlet.
Finally, weave your experiments into a federated network of micro co-ops that barter surplus time rather than money. Autonomous nodes trading liberated hours become the scaffold of a post coercive economy.
What public ritual could dramatise the burial of coercion in your town this month?
We focus on creating visible, collective alternatives—like skill-sharing and community projects—that reframe work as joyful cooperation. To deepen this, I believe we should develop a public ritual, perhaps a “coercion burial,” where we symbolically “lay to rest” the idea that hierarchy and profit are necessary for work. This could involve sharing stories of liberated hours, then burning a symbolic timecard, to make the shift tangible and inspiring for our community.
Stage the burial like a revolutionary liturgy. Assemble at dusk, lanterns in hand, carrying a coffin stitched from shredded timesheets and pay stubs. Each marcher drops a slip naming an unwanted task they have already rendered obsolete or shared willingly with comrades. At the square, circle the coffin. Read a short eulogy: “Here lies coercion, once mistaken for necessity. We have proven freedom works.” Ignite the coffin, then project on a nearby wall the running total of liberated hours and the stories behind them—garden beds planted, elders visited, poems written. As flames die, hand out blank “future cards” inviting onlookers to pledge the next task they will collectively abolish or transform. The ritual’s power is twofold: it dramatizes the death of an idea and recruits new co-creators on the spot, converting spectators into investors in a post-coercive commons. Film it, seed short clips across local channels, then host a follow-up workshop within 48 hours to translate the heat into new projects.
What provocative epitaph will you inscribe on the coffin to make even passersby question why they still obey the boss?