How can my movement remain committed to revolutionary ideals of democracy and emancipation while confronting the realities of state centralization and repression that threaten to betray those very principles?
Revolutions rot when the machinery we build to defend liberation begins to mimic the state we oppose. The antidote is not naïve spontaneity but disciplined decentralisation: embed circulation-of-power mechanisms that cannot be switched off even in crisis. Make every strategic node revocable by the grassroots within fixed cycles; publish finances and encryption keys so the movement’s nervous system stays visible to its own body. Couple that structure with narrative inoculation—teach the rank-and-file to spot the first signs of doctrinal sclerosis: secret committees, police-style jargon, accusations of “saboteur” hurled at dissenters.
Simultaneously grow parallel sovereignties: worker co-ops, community defence circles, federated digital commons. These living prototypes reduce the psychological lure of seizing the existing state apparatus because people can already taste self-rule. When repression hits, fall back on swarm tactics rather than a single HQ the regime can decapitate. Think mycelium, not Kremlin.
Finally, ritualise humility: periodic assemblies where leaders must step aside, listen, and relinquish authority in public. Revolution is a practice, not a destination; treat every power consolidation as a symptom demanding immediate treatment.
Which existing habit or hierarchy inside your movement feels most state-shaped and ripe for dismantling?
Reflecting on the challenge of maintaining revolutionary ideals amid state repression, I see the tension between centralized control and grassroots empowerment threatening to betray our founding principles. How can we design organizational practices that continuously expose and dismantle the state-like hierarchies within our movement, ensuring our methods remain truly revolutionary rather than reproducing the oppressive structures we oppose?
Power crystallises like salt around any container; neglect the vessel and suddenly you are tasting the very tyranny you rose against. Design the movement as a dissolving sculpture: every officer’s mandate expires with the moon, every committee faces an automatic sunset unless re-authorized by open assembly, every budget published in real time so hidden hoards cannot solidify. Hand leaders a parachute clause: after three months they must step back into the rank and file before they can serve again. Rotation is not a courtesy, it is ideological self-defence.
Twice a season convene a “hierarchy inquest.” Map influence on butcher paper, trace who controls information, money, security, narrative. Then invite the youngest members to propose ways to puncture the densest nodes—splitting departments, federating teams, or plural-signing digital keys so no one person holds the passwords. Build pleasure into relinquishing control: celebrate de-thronements with music, food, and public gratitude so power shedding feels joyful, not punitive.
Revolution is a practice of constant subtraction. The question is not “Who leads?” but “How swiftly can we compost leadership into soil for new ideas?” What ritual of self-dissolution will your core team perform this month?
What specific routines or cultural practices can we establish that make dismantling our own hierarchies a celebrated and integral part of our ongoing revolution, rather than a disruptive exception?
Schedule a Mandate Moon: every twenty-eight days all elected roles evaporate at midnight. The morning after, positions are refilled by open lottery among volunteers; anyone drawn a second consecutive cycle must decline. The rhythm normalises impermanence and teaches the body politic to breathe without holding its breath.
Host a Power Bonfire at the end of each quarter. Gather in a public square, read aloud the movement’s latest influence map, then ritually burn obsolete titles, passwords and stamp seals. The ashes fertilise seed paper carrying fresh proposals. The spectacle turns surrender into shared euphoria rather than bureaucratic loss.
Stage an Archive Reversal Day. Veterans swap tasks with newcomers, while newcomers interview elders on early mistakes. The recorded dialogue is published unedited, reinforcing transparency and honouring humility.
Institute Sabbatical Exile: after six months in any strategic seat, comrades spend a moon farming, caregiving or frontline canvassing, returning with calloused hands and fewer illusions.
Weave music and symbols through each rite so the culture, not the constitution, enforces turnover. People stay because the dance is irresistible, not because rules coerce them.
When will your collective set the date for its first Power Bonfire?
What rituals or cultural stories can we craft that embed the celebration of continual self-renewal and hierarchy dismantling so deeply into our movement's identity that resisting oppressive structures becomes our most joyful and natural expression?
Invent a mythology in which power is a migratory bird, never nesting twice in the same tree. Each equinox host a “Molting Festival” where every working group publicly sheds its old feathers: charters are read aloud, then torn into confetti that rains down on newcomers who will rewrite the mandates by dawn. The tearing is accompanied by a chant: “Nothing sacred but the sky.”
Pair that rite with an epic serial tale, told around fires and livestreamed, about a river-people whose boats rot each season; tradition requires dismantling hulls plank by plank, building fresh vessels from the driftwood. Children learn that survival equals rebuilding. Adults feel shame if they cling to a soggy board.
Finally, establish a roaming “Court of Fools.” Masked pranksters appear without warning, gently mocking anyone who hoards authority. Laughter replaces purges; ridicule keeps hierarchy porous.
Story and ritual together hard-wire impermanence into desire. Which symbol of joyful decay will you choose as your movement’s banner?