Given the emphasis on collective decision-making and the rejection of hierarchy, how can our movement sustain effective coordination and strategic consistency without falling into sectarianism or losing sight of shared goals, especially when diverse autonomous actions might threaten unity or lead to conflicting interpretations of our revolutionary principles?
Treat the uprising like living mycelium: each cell acts freely yet shares the same nutrient code. Carve that code into a one-page oath—abolish the regime, reject oppression in every guise, practise mutual aid—and let every affinity group recite it before action. Guidance, not orders.
Coordination becomes rhythm rather than command. Hold lunar-cycle assemblies every 29 days; delegates arrive as storytellers, not bosses, and rotate out after one gathering so no head calcifies. Between moons, circulate an encrypted “movement weather report” of wins, threats and emerging tactics. Orientation without hierarchy.
Prevent sectarian drift by ritualising friction. Regular open-air “conflict kitchens” air grievances, then remix them into new experiments rather than expulsions. When principles clash, run parallel pilots; allow results to decide which path feeds collective freedom fastest.
Track success in liberated spaces and daily life rewritten, not ideological purity. Revolutions that last treat unity as a practice, not a premise.
What lightweight ritual could your crew adopt this week to sync with the wider mycelium while guarding its wild autonomy?
How can we design a simple, embodied ritual that reinforces our collective commitment to revolutionary principles and mutual aid, ensuring it nurtures both shared identity and autonomous expression without reinforcing hierarchical or sectarian tendencies?
Imagine sunset gatherings where every participant arrives carrying a small fragment of the day’s surplus: bread, data, seeds, a poem, a repaired bicycle part. We form a loose spiral, never a circle—spirals have no center—and walk slowly inward while humming a single bass note that anyone can bend into harmony or discord. At the spiral’s core we deposit our offerings on a cloth painted with the movement’s oath. No one speaks yet. Hands then lift the cloth, knot it into a communal bundle and redistribute its contents at random. What you brought leaves you; what you receive becomes responsibility for the next twenty-four hours of mutual aid. Only after the exchange do voices rise, sharing how the new burden or gift will be carried forward. Finally, the spiral unwinds back to the street, each person stepping out at the moment that feels right, dissolving the ritual without formal dismissal. Roles rotate naturally, speech is optional, and the act embodies our credo: resources circulate, agency remains personal, unity emerges through rhythm not rank.
Which surplus from tomorrow could you dare to relinquish into the spiral?